


Good Omens: Sleepy Hollow: A Halloween Special

by Writer_of_Words88



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Sleepy Hollow Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Blood Magic, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Crimes & Criminals, Finger Sucking, Fluff and Humor, Hand Jobs, Horror Elements, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Police, Porn with Feelings, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Strip Tease, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 00:01:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21244172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writer_of_Words88/pseuds/Writer_of_Words88
Summary: Constable Anthony Crowley is getting a promotion. He should be excited, thrilled even to advance so quickly to the rank of Sargeant. However, all things come at a price. For him, it's giving up city life and being transferred to a bloody awful little town called Sleepy Hollow.Just because it's been a hundred years since their last murder, doesn't mean it's anything to worry about. Crowley has solved murders before, why would this one be any different?---“It was, in fact, a man in a dark cloak, riding a horse, and they said,” Aziraphale leaned in closer. “He had no head.” His last few words came out in a whisper.Crowley rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you actually believe that.”Aziraphale scoffed, tilting back again. “Of course, not. I am merely intrigued by the idea at such a facade.”---Cameos because they are awesome:Dennis- from Instagram's @masao.sketch Good Omens Plants FanComicCastiel- TV Show SupernaturalAvery- From Wattpad: @ThatTrashChild





	1. What the Hell?

**Author's Note:**

> Good Omens FanFic Timeline:  
Pre-Canon:  
The Pharaoh’s Son – Egypt 14th Century BC  
An Angel in the Brothel – Pompeii 62 AD  
A Long Way from a Miracle – Italy 217 AD  
Christmas Special: The Church of Saint Crowley – Turkey 300 AD  
The Devil’s Favor – England 1066 AD  
War Times – England 1941 AD
> 
> Post-Canon:  
The Bachelor Party – 2019 AD
> 
> Separate GO AU FanFic:  
Halloween Special: Sleepy Hollow (Human AU)  
Ineffable Prompts  
Instagram Prompt

Crowley had been shot. He doubled over, agony ripping through his guts, and it almost brought him to his knees. Or, at least, that’s what it had felt like had happened. He puffed out a deep breath and ran his fingers through his short auburn hair. “How could you do this to me?”

Chief Inspector Beelzebub just smirked at him. They sat across the desk from Constable Crowley, relaxed and at ease as though they had not just sentenced him to the deepest circle of Hell. “What’zz the problem? You filed for a promotion two months ago, and here it iszz. Most other officers wait at least six months before they get to advance, you should be pleaszzed.” 

“This isn’t a promotion,” Crowley spat and paced around the office. “This is a death sentence. I can’t go to some bloody town in the middle of nowhere. Why can’t I stay here, Beez? I’ve done everything you asked. I’m the best constable on the force. How can you not see that?”

The chief inspector stood and adjusted their uniform. “I know very well that you are the best we have, and that’s the problem. You’re too…_good_.” The word almost seemed too bitter to speak. “Truth iszz, Crowley, is that you’re messing up the numbers for everyone else. Too many good deedszz, too many crooks caught, and well, the rest of us have a hard time keeping up.”

Crowley halted, nearly tripping over his own feet. “So, what? You’re just going to send me off just like that? It’s either: go be a Sergeant in some little town or forget being an officer?”

Beez gave him another not-quite smile. “Soundszz like you have the idea. But, don’t worry, they actually had a murder there recently, first one in a hundred yearszz. I’m sure it will keep you plenty buszzy.” They pulled open a desk drawer and retrieved a set of papers. “So, are you ready to sign, or should I have you escorted from the premiszze?”

Crowley stumbled back, grasping for the door handle. “You. You can’t do this. The others, the others on the force will have a say in this, you hear me! It’s not bloody over, not by a long shot.” He twisted open the door, only to find Constables Hastur and Ligur standing there, waiting for him. 

They seemed all-too pleased with themselves. Both wore brightly colored party hats and matching smug smiles like the one the chief inspector had given him as though it had been infectious. Ligur held a small white cake. It read: Good Luck.

Crowley’s jaw fell open. He spun from Beez, then back to his fellow–backstabbing–constables. “Bastards, all of you.”

And that was how Crowley found himself on a train. He had no idea where in the hell Sleepy Hollow was, not like he’d ever needed to look it up on a map before. He’d also never heard of a Living History Museum either. Why an entire town would dedicate themselves to existing behind the times by a few centuries, just for the sake of tourism, was beyond his comprehension. If they expected him to wear anything less than a stab vest, then they were in for a real surprise.

He glanced next to him at Dennis, his Laurentii snake plant, in the seat. Other than his clothes and a handful of personal belongings. Dennis was the only thing Crowley really cared for, or at least, would find it a minor inconvenience if he had to replace it. 

“If you don’t perk up by the time we get there, I’ll make sure you are replaced by the next ficus I can find,” Crowley hissed at the plant. He could almost imagine it quivering in place, but he knew it was what Dennis needed to not get all wilty by the time they got settled. 

Crowley grabbed his suitcase and Dennis before ambling onto the platform. He tried to repress a groan as his surroundings lacked any building larger than a two-story cottage. In fact, the area was only comprised of a tiny ticket booth barely large enough for one person and a farmhouse about a quarter-mile away, though it was getting harder to judge distance by the approaching dusk. 

Crickets chirped in the nearby fields and gave the swirling fireflies music for their dance. It would’ve seemed peaceful to any normal person, but Crowley thrived on work; it was all he had, so it wasn’t hard to tell that this place would surely be the death of him. He’d be so bloody bored that he’d fall asleep and never wake up. 

Even with the murder, Crowley doubted it would be anything more than some farmer’s domestic dispute or some nonsense over land. Nothing he couldn’t solve in his sleep anyway. 

He raised his eyebrow as he scanned the vacant platform. The few cars that had been there on his arrival had left, carrying the couple of others that had exited the train with him. Crowley found himself utterly alone, save for Dennis, on an empty platform that led to a dirt road. Not even a paved one. Crowley cursed his luck; he’d kick himself if it got any worse. 

And then, as if popped from a fairy tale, a white and gold horse-drawn carriage crested the far hill, coming into view. Crowley pursed his lips, then turned and began to walk. 

There was no way in hell he was ever climbing into that garish monstrosity. 

He would have rather broken both of his kneecaps with his own baton and eaten Dennis before even thinking about climbing into that relic that should’ve been left in the past. 

When he had asked Beez who would pick him up from the train, all they had told him was that he’d know it when he saw it. He _was_ cursed, he had to be. His luck had been so terrible the last few days, he was surprised he was still alive, to be honest. 

The clopping of hooves echoed closer, and Crowley did his best to not break into a sprint. It occurred to him then that he was probably headed in the wrong direction from the small town, but he didn’t really care anymore. 

“Please, wait! Excuse me,” called a somewhat timid voice from behind. 

Crowley took a few more steps before slowing to a halt. He _had_ accepted the job, so if he bailed without even solving the case, he’d really never be able to find work anywhere else. Maybe he could grit his teeth for a year and transfer elsewhere. He had to hope because it was all he had left.

Crowley turned as the carriage pulled up behind him. A man about his own age, stood leaning out of the door with one foot resting on the metal step. He wore an intricately patterned coat of pale golden thread with lace at his neck and sleeves. His entire ensemble appeared snatched from the 18th century as if Crowley had been transported back into the past. 

He blinked as the horses came to a stop, and the man stepped out onto the grass and approached. His features were…angelic—Too sappy. How could he best think of the blond curls that glittered in the lamplight from the coach or the tender blue eyes veiled by long eyelashes? 

Soft, that was a better word, a word that most definitely did not make his heart pound in his chest or make him compare the man standing before him to a prince because he was no princess. But if he’d been wearing a dress, the man would’ve probably bowed and kissed his hand. He kind of liked that idea. 

Crowley was grateful for the dark glasses on his face. He had a nagging suspicion that he wouldn’t be able to stop staring at this man no matter how hard he tried. 

“I’m so sorry we were late,” the man said with an apologetic smile. “My brother failed to give me the proper time of your arrival. I’m so glad I decided to head out early. It would’ve been dreadfully rude to make you wait so long.”

“Ngk, eh, yeah.” Crowley knew he could form words, he had in the past, but apparently, he’d forgotten how to somewhere in the last fifteen seconds. 

“You are Constable, I mean, Sergeant Anthony Crowley, yes?”

Crowley nodded, still unsure if his brain had rebooted, yet. Whatever his heart was doing, felt almost like it was pole-vaulting around his chest; it wasn’t helping his calm and cool demeanor in the slightest, and knowing that only made it worse. He coughed, forcing his mind to work. “Yeah, I’m Anthony. Most people just call me Crowley, though, says it suits me.” He let go of his suitcase, not caring if it fell over into the road, and outstretched his hand. 

“Aziraphale Zachariah Fell. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He clasped his hand, shaking it. 

Crowley tried not to count how long they touched, but Aziraphale didn’t seem eager to let him go, though that was probably just Crowley’s wishful thinking. Stupid brain. “Aziraphale, nice name. I was told Gabriel was going to pick me up.”

“Oh, he’s my brother. He was busy and couldn’t make it.”

“Bit of a wanker, isn’t he?” Crowley bit his lip. “Sorry, that was probably rude of me.”

But, Aziraphale gave him a small knowing smile. “Actually, I find that to be a rather apt description of him.” He giggled, and Crowley found himself smiling along with him.

“Oh, where are my manners,” Aziraphale huffed. “Please, let me take your bags, or bag and plant, rather. Also, this is our driver, Castiel.”

“Cass, please,” the driver grumbled. He had short brown hair and piercing blue eyes. He wore a big grey coat, much less dazzling than the carriage’s passenger. 

Crowley nodded at him, then tried to help Aziraphale with the luggage. He opened his mouth to caution him against lifting the massive case, but the man placed it on the back of the carriage without even a grunt of effort. 

Crowley glanced down at Dennis in his arms and tried to not gawk at Aziraphale’s fluttering coat tails. He would most certainly _not_ check out his ass as he tied down the meager bit of luggage. His eyes flicked up once, and he flushed. Maybe he should climb inside before he made a bigger fool of himself. Crowley pulled open the door.

Aziraphale appeared next to him and held out a hand. “Let me help you.”

Crowley tried not to blush as he took his hand.

“Oh, that works too. I meant I could hold your plant for you while you climbed in.” 

Crowley resisted the urge to set himself on fire from embarrassment and stumbled inside the carriage. He set Dennis on the seat across from him and pulled back the curtain, glancing out the window. The heat searing his cheeks needed time to smother out, and he hoped, staring out the window would give him a good enough excuse to hide it. He was grateful for the darkening grey of dusk and the dim light of the hanging lamps.

The leather of the seat next to him squeaked. Crowley tensed, then dared a quick glance. Aziraphale had decided to sit next to him. Crowley rested his head against the wall of the coach. He was going to have to stare out the bloody window all evening at this rate. 

“How long till we get there?”

“About an hour. I hope you’re not in any hurry.” Aziraphale chuckled, seeming a bit nervous. 

Crowley wanted to bang his head on the wall. He knew his manners were lacking if he watched out the window the whole ride. Despite his residual blush, he re-angled himself and sprawled against the wall, kicking his feet up on the seat across from them. He glanced at Aziraphale, who sat with his back in a straight and rigorous posture. 

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Do you sit like that all the time?” He could’ve kicked himself. The words had poured out of him before he had a chance to think about what he was saying. 

Aziraphale looked down at himself. “I suppose I do. It’s just a habit from my upbringing.”

“All I meant by it is that you can relax, you know? You don’t have to sit like a bloody perfect angel around me.”

Aziraphale brought his hand to his mouth as he chuckled. “An angel? Oh, I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that.”

“Why not? Suits you.”

The man glanced away with what Crowley hoped was a blush dusting his cheeks. “Thank you. You are too kind.”

“It’s not really kindness. I mean, if you think _that’s_ kindness, then your life must have been unbearable or been a rather cold upbringing. Sorry, profiling, can’t ever seem to turn off the cop brain.”

“No, it’s quite alright. I would love to discuss more with your, um, cop brain, actually. Have you been brought up to speed on the murder?”

Crowley perked up in his seat. “Not much. What do you know?”

Aziraphale shifted, beaming at him. “Well, I heard from Madame Tracy that her husband, Sergeant Shadwell, though not the same kind of Sergeant as you, and Newton Pulsifer found the body. They were out patrolling the perimeter that evening, which is completely normal. Our Living History town gets teenagers up there all the time trying to take something from the houses or cause their usual tomfoolery. But, let’s see now, three days ago was when it happened. They had been walking and heard hoofbeats. They assumed someone from town was riding up to them, but,” he wiggled with excitement in his seat. “It was, in fact, a man in a dark cloak, riding a horse, and they said,” Aziraphale leaned in closer. “He had _no_ head.” His last few words came out in a whisper. 

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you actually believe that.”

Aziraphale scoffed, tilting back again. “Of course, not. I am merely intrigued by the idea at such a facade. Does the costume represent a type of powerplay for the killer? Is this an act of revenge or sadism? Perhaps a delusional offering toward the supernatural. Where is the killer hiding a large black stallion at eighteen hands tall? Surely, someone would notice it.”

“Hang on. How do you know how tall the horse is?”

“Well, I measured the distance between the hoof prints, of course. It’s a simple calculation from there.” 

Crowley smiled despite himself. “You _are_ a clever bastard, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale flushed crimson at the praise. “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not really all that good, I think.” 

“Could use someone like you for the investigation. I don’t know anyone in town, and it will help with questioning the witnesses to have someone there that they know.”

“Well, I, I mean, of course, I will help however I can.” The sparkle in his eyes faded despite his previous eagerness. 

“What is it?” Crowley already had a suspicion, but it would be best if he didn’t profile him into silence or embarrassment. 

“It’s nothing, really.”

Crowley sat up and removed his glasses.

Aziraphale met his eyes and stared. His gaze seemed almost transfixed on him. 

Despite the fading light, Crowley knew his honey-gold eyes were the culprit as it usually was for him. He kept the glasses on because most of the time, he found the stare unsettling; however, a part of him seemed eager for Aziraphale’s attention. Focus, he chastised himself. He settled for a lazy smirk. “Let me guess, you wanted to be an officer since you were a kid and mummy and daddy didn’t like that idea much, did they?”

Aziraphale’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Am I really that easy to read?”

“‘Fraid so. But I have had some practice at reading people.”

“Really?” Aziraphale returned his smug smile. “Then, what else can you tell about me?”

Crowley bit his lip and leaned back again. This part always got him into trouble. If he didn’t tone down his accusations, it usually ended badly, and he really didn’t want to have to walk to Sleepy Hollow in the dark. “Well, not too much, I mean–”

“Liar.”

Crowley tried his best not to enjoy the smirk on Aziraphale’s face. What the hell. “Fine, then.” He tapped one finger on his chin, glancing him over. “You’re from a wealthy family with high standards, yet low expectations of you. Probably due to the fact that you’ve never been married and have no current commitments. Youngest of the siblings, judging by how you speak, I’d say at least three of them, including you. Parents away a lot even as a kid. You love adventure and probably reading, but never had a chance to prove yourself, to you or anyone else. You also hope to use this case to do just that and hope it will give you the courage to tell them that you’ve decided to pursue a career as a police officer. Did I miss anything?”

Aziraphale shifted in his seat. “Good lord. You got all of that so far? Why we haven’t even known each other for more than a few minutes.”

Crowley winked at him. “Takes time and practice, but yeah, I’m that good.” He relaxed back, enjoying, probably a bit too much, being under Aziraphale’s beaming gaze. “That, or I researched some about the town and you lot on the internet on the way over here.”

Aziraphale’s jaw fell open. “Oh, you bastard. You’re such a devil.”

Crowley shrugged. “Just doing my job.”

“Well, then. I am grateful to be able to learn from such a nice and studious person.”

“Oh, shut it. I’m not nice. No one ever calls me nice.”

“And no one ever calls me an angel.”

Crowley felt the smile spread across his lips again. “I guess then we’re even, angel. But,” he rolled his shoulders. The blasted wagon was not a smooth ride. “You barely mentioned the body before. Kind of an important part in a murder.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Well, I know that. As I was saying, Sergeant Shadwell and poor Newt hurried back toward town after nearly getting run over by the rider, and on the way back,” he swallowed, paling slightly. “They found the body of Ms. Carmine Zuigiber, though everyone called her Scarlett. She had vibrant red hair, similar to yours, dear.”

Crowley shifted at the endearment but didn’t interrupt. 

“She had been decapitated, which alone is not completely odd. Dr. Samenow’s book on the criminal mind suggests revenge as the best motive, and I suppose it is possible. But the most disconcerting thing was the scorch marks.”

“Scorch marks?” Crowley was intrigued. Each time he thought he could wrap his head around the killer, one more piece through him off the trail. 

“Yes, the skin appeared to have been cauterized along the point of impact.”

Crowley stared at him. His mind processed what he’d just heard. “That’s,” he worked his jaw. “That’s not possible. It’s not like people go around wielding giant laser swords. This isn’t the movies. I take it you examined the body then?”

“Dr. Sable did the autopsy, and he let me ask him questions during his examination. He knows, um, about my aspirations, and so, he indulges my oddities every now and then.”

“It’s not bad to want to solve crimes and help people, angel.”

He paused, giving Crowley an odd look, then relaxed a little in his seat. “Thank you. That means a lot to me, actually.”

“Well, hopefully, with you there tomorrow, the good doctor will be just as amiable.” 

“You…you mean you’re serious? You really want my help?” 

Crowley blinked at him in surprise. “Of course, angel. Would I lie to you?”

Aziraphale glanced to the side. “Perhaps, my dear. You are a bit of a devil, it seems.”

Crowley couldn’t help the flutter in his heart. It was the most amazing and terrifying thing all at the same time. 

Then, as Aziraphale turned back to him, he paled; his eyes transfixed on something behind him. 

A horse’s whinnying scream echoed out into the evening air. The flutter inside Crowley plummeted away in the roar of internal alarm bells. He jerked around in time to meet the flaming eyed stare of a carved pumpkin head. “What the f–”

The grating sound of steel shimmered through the air as a rider, cloaked in darkness, mounted on a huge black steed, sliced the air with a massive sword. 

Crowley’s years of training shoved everything aside, allowing instinct to drive him. He spun back to Aziraphale and rolled them to the floor of the carriage as metal sliced through the open window. 

“Get Dennis and get to the roof,” Crowley snarled, then kicked the door open. 

It banged against the horse, causing it to stumble. 

Crowley yanked Aziraphale to his feet. “Hurry up! Get up there with Cass. I can’t protect you and Dennis and fight off this blasted maniac!”

“Who in the hell is Dennis?” Aziraphale waved his hands in the air and gave him an exasperated look.

“Oh, right. It’s the plant.” He pointed to the Laurentii. 

“You _name_ your plants?”

“Now’s not the time, angel.” Crowley tensed as he glanced back and spied an advancing black rider. The door slam had earned them a few seconds, but it hadn’t taken long for the horse to regain its ground. Grating metal and galloping hoofbeats clamored closer. 

“You’re going to have to crawl out the other side and over the top. I’ll keep this idiot busy.” Crowley glanced around, wishing he hadn’t packed his baton and mace into his bag. 

Aziraphale untied something at his belt and thrust it at Crowley. A large parrying dagger gleamed in his hands. The handle glinted with swirling golden patterns to the end of the quillions that protruded out, giving it a near trident or odd fork appearance. 

Crowley gripped the handle in one hand, testing the weight. “You know these are illegal to carry, right?”

“Oh, good lord. Cuff me later, if you must, just don’t go and get yourself killed.” Aziraphale picked up Dennis in one arm. 

“Pretty sure there’s a joke in there somewhere. But, yeah, alright.” Crowley whirled as the rider sliced off the door. He flinched back, blinking. The coach was not some halfway done prop with cardboard in places; it had metal brackets and solid woodwork. The power needed to slice through it as though it were a loaf of bread would be astronomical. He gritted his teeth and readied his weapon. 

The door behind him banged open as Aziraphale prepared to climb. 

Flames spewing from the bizarre pumpkin head fanned out in orangish hellfire, and the horse slowed, edging behind the carriage. 

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Crowley snarled, spinning in time to see Aziraphale disappear on top of the coach. He lunged through the opening with his grip tightening on the dagger. Crowley stepped onto the metal foot rail and held on to the door frame. The bloody rider was not going to take out anyone on his watch. 

Crowley narrowed his eyes as the rider dashed into view. His sword flashed, hacking at the wooden wheel. 

“Oh, shit.” Crowley clung to the carriage as the wheel broke free, yanking the coach to the side. He craned his neck, spying Aziraphale and the driver as they lurched, but remained mostly still in the driver’s seat. 

The scent of smoke wafted into his nose. “Nononono_no_!” He spun, glancing inside and found one of the lamps had swung loose, spilling hot wax and bits of flame across the side of the seat. The drapes where Crowley had been sitting burned, giving him a clear view of the rider, now hacking at the adjacent back wheel. “Hang on to something,” Crowley yelled, scrambling on top of the coach. He eased the dagger in between his teeth, freeing both of his hands. A cynical part of his mind reminded himself that he was not getting paid nearly enough to deal with this kind of crap. 

The back wheel splintered away.

Crowley yelped, clinging to the carriage as it lurched, tipping backward. His grip was slipping, and the thundering beat of hooves closed in behind him. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale stretched out a hand, grasping him. Together they dragged him up into the driver’s seat. “We must abandon the carriage.” 

The horses ahead panted, tugging to pull the coach onward. 

“Jump for the horses, and I’ll free us from the wagon,” Cass screamed against the clattering thunder of hooves. 

Crowley groaned but nodded. He grabbed Dennis, tucking him into his arm. With a dagger stuck between his teeth and a medium-sized house plant in one arm, he would have to be extremely accurate in his landing. He glanced back, and his eyes widened. The flame had spread, devouring the back half of the coach. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that it shouldn’t have spread so quickly in such a small amount of time. There had to have been an accelerant or something. So many pieces of the case were not adding up, but he had little time to think them over now. The horseman charged up their flank, sword slicing at the charring wood. They had no choice.

“Now,” Cass said and shoved them forward onto the back of the horses. 

Crowley flailed a bit but managed to grip ahold of the horse’s mane and part of the reins. He glanced to his side and spied Aziraphale clutching to his steed, though with more grace than Crowley could manage. 

He almost yelped, losing the dagger, as someone snatched him around the middle. Cass had joined him on the horse, and they left the flaming wreckage behind. Crowley glanced back, spying their carriage, and his luggage slow to a heap of burning flame, and the eerie carved eyes of the rider disappear into the night. 


	2. The Officer and the Doctor

Crowley was pissed. He stood in the middle of the road, almost hopping on one leg just to get decent mobile reception and was currently snarling at his former boss to send him replacement gear, which had all burned beyond recognition. Nothing was going right, and he hadn’t even been officially sworn into his post yet.

After the disappearance of the rider, Crowley had spent five minutes trying to find a signal to call the nearest fire department, all while on the back of a horse. He’d given Aziraphale back the dagger and told him to keep it hidden for the time. Crowley could feel multiple bruises aching along his limbs and back. The corner of his mouth had a tiny nick from the blade, but he’d still been grateful for it, nonetheless. Even if holding the weapon that way had made him drool all over himself. 

The fire department had arrived almost a half-hour later, and by then, the flame had mostly died down, thankfully not spreading to any of the nearby foliage. 

Aziraphale had been kind enough to hold Dennis while Crowley spoke to the fire officials and then woke Beez up in the middle of the night to rant about lunatic farmers on the back of nightmare horses and burning everything to the ground. Crowley knew he would get new gear from them. But, he also knew they would make him beg for it.

“How many times do I have to say it,” Crowley snarled into the phone. “The attacker was on a bloody horse and attacked our carriage.”

“A carriage? Like from the movieszz?”

“Yes, a carriage, like from Cinderella.” Crowley could hear them sniggering into the phone.

“Did the knight in shining armor not come to your reszzcue?”

“Beez, this isn’t funny. There could’ve been civilian casualties. Bloody hell,_ I_ could’ve been a casualty. I need a gun sent with the gear, or I might as well stick myself with a blasted pitchfork and get it over with.”

“What makeszz you think we’ll help you, traitor? Even if this waszz the best story I’ve heard in ages.” 

Crowley slid his hand down his face. “You sent me out here, and if I die before I even get the paperwork done, then you’ll have to keep sending people till they get the job done. I wonder how the tabloids would handle how you send your lambs to the slaughter, especially with no help.” He popped the last word out, driving home his point. Beez may have had many high up friends on the force, but Crowley still had plenty of resources of his own. 

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, really? Wouldn’t I?”

The line was silent for a long moment before Beez let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine, just thiszzz once. Don’t expect any more favors from me.” The line clicked. 

Crowley glanced at the phone. It was near midnight. Beez hadn’t said when or how much gear they would send him. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to budget for too much. He would need to check with the force once he made it to Sleepy Hollow.

The road around them flickered in the red and yellow lights of the firetruck. They appeared to be packing up, seeing as most of the smoke and all of the fire had been extinguished. Crowley had already spoken to them about the incident and given a report of the account. His shoulders sagged as he glanced back toward Aziraphale and Cass. They stood with the horses, trying to keep them from charging off into the darkness and away from the flashing lights. 

He staggered over to them, putting his phone back in his pocket. “Well, I’ve done all I can. Not looking forward to tomorrow’s paperwork. I’d almost rather take on that stupid rider again.”

Aziraphale gave him a reassuring smile. “I don’t think it will be too bad. If you like, I’d be happy to offer my penmanship services. I have seen a few of the police forms before and could be of assistance.” 

Crowley nodded in appreciation but was too tired to do more. “How far is the ride back? I still need to check into my room.”

Cass had unharnessed the horses from the carriage tack but left their reins on. He swung onto the back of one of the darker quarter horses and snagged the reins of a second. “It’s about a half-hour from here.”

Crowley groaned, letting his head fall forward. That was not the answer he’d wanted to hear. “Fine, let’s get on it then. Not sure I’ll make it all the way in the door before I fall asleep at this point.” He shimmied up onto one of the other horses with Cass’s help, then turned and reached out a hand to Aziraphale. “Thanks for looking after Dennis. I can carry him back. He and I need to come to an understanding after tonight anyway.”

Aziraphale hugged the plant closer to him. “Nonsense. You can barely sit up straight as it were. Besides, he and I have come to our own understanding while you were busy with work.”

Crowley blinked at him, then whipped his stare at the plant. “It hasn’t even been one bloody night, and you’re already cheating on me, ungrateful bastard.”

Aziraphale chuckled, then with much more poise than either Crowley or Cass, he swung himself up onto the back of the remaining steed with Dennis still in tow. 

Crowley tilted his head. “You must have grown up with horses. You’re a natural at this.”

Aziraphale fidgeted with the reins. “Ah, well. I suppose so. My family has owned and bred horses since I can remember. If I wasn’t hiding in the library as a boy, then I was usually in the stables.”

Crowley could imagine a young Aziraphale hiding among them, perhaps even bringing a book or two with him to read while watching the beasts run and gallop through the fields. He shook his head, realizing he was almost nodding off. “We need to get going, or you’re going to have to pick me up off the road in the morning.”

They started to ride. Cass led the way, guiding the extra horse. Aziraphale rode next to Crowley, probably to make sure he didn’t pass out along the way. 

“With it being so late, you could stay with me, um, I-I mean with my family, at their house, lots of rooms, can be quite cozy.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, but he couldn’t catch much playing across Aziraphale’s face in the dark. He was tired enough to consider the option, but his police instincts rationalized against the idea for reasons he hated to think about with Aziraphale right there. With no leads and no clear motives yet, the perpetrator could be a member of his family. And with that depressing reality, whatever friendship they had managed to spark up between them would ignite into a fiery ball of betrayal. However, he hadn’t questioned anyone, so the likelihood was still slim. He sighed, realizing he really _did_ want to accept his offer. “Probably best not to, angel. I need to keep a clear neutral stance, and if I go around accepting offers or housing from prominent families, it could be taken as a bribe or something.”

Aziraphale didn’t answer him right away, and even in the darkness, Crowley could sense the disappointment pouring off of him. 

“Not that I think you’d ever do something like that,” Crowley added. He didn’t actually think he’d meant it as a bribe, but he needed to keep the air clean of rumors or assumptions for as long as he could. 

“No, it’s quite alright. Probably for the best, really.” Aziraphale said, but his words lacked their usual bounce. 

The rest of the ride was quiet save for the sound of the slow trot of the horses. Crowley had to pull out his phone a few times for a light and make sure they were still heading down the road, but with the thick trees lining the path, it would’ve been hard not to notice their miscalculation. 

As they entered the town, Crowley groaned as he realized just how quiet his life would be after he figured out which idiot farmer had decided to go all Freddie Krueger on some poor sod. Sleepy Hollow seemed as though it’d been plucked from some history book with hand-placed stone fences, half a dozen weathered stone buildings and dotted with lamplight not much brighter than the fireflies that had danced in the fields. However, even in the dim lanterns, Crowley could make out almost every building of the tiny town. He had researched their website on the train, which was done well in his opinion. Though, he was sure that they had outsourced the web design given that he doubted Sleepy Hollow had even _heard_ of such a thing as Wi-Fi. 

The website had included a town map that detailed an inn, bakery, butcher shop, clinic, a gift shop which was much more modern than any of the other stores, jailhouse, church, and the Fell manor at the end of the road, just up from a winding path. There was a peppering of houses and farms from other actors/townspeople who lived there, but only one of the farms was set up for tourists. All in all, Crowley had at least fifty suspects; though, he knew he could rule out a good number of them based on the current smattering of information. Even if it wasn’t much to go on yet. Still, a few dozen people would be a lot to question in the coming days. 

They stopped in front of the stony structure of the inn. It had seen better days but wasn’t anymore worn down than Crowley had expected. Rustic charm was the term he thought most people used for it. 

He slipped down from the horse and traded Aziraphale the reins for Dennis. Crowley toyed with the idea of telling him he could come to see Dennis sometimes if he wanted too, but it sounded horribly sappy. So, he settled for the logical approach. 

“I usually get an early start during an investigation. Meet me here at eight and make sure to wear something you don’t mind getting dirty.” Crowley glanced over Aziraphale’s lavish coat with a few smudges of dirt. “I know a dry cleaner back in London that can get that out for you. Can ship it out tomorrow if you like.”

Aziraphale brightened with beaming eyes. “Oh, would you? That would be lovely, dear. Thank you. I’ll bring it with me in the morning.” He leaned over, catching his eyes.

They stared at each other, letting the heartbeats pass. As though they were waiting for something. Crowley flushed as he gazed up at Aziraphale. The flames from the nearby lamps flickered off his face. It was just enough light to let Crowley watch as he bit his lip. 

Crowley wanted to…get some sleep. He _needed_ rest. What he didn’t need was an intense experience that had clouded his judgment and steal his focus from the murder investigation. 

“Thanks for coming to get me and all,” Crowley said and patted the horse’s neck.

Aziraphale straightened, tightening his grip on the reins. “Of course. Happy to help. See you bright and early.” 

Crowley leaned against the front gate and watched them trot off. He hadn’t even been there for a full day and had already seen quite a few surprises, not_ all_ of them bad. 

He checked in without too much problem. He thanked G—well, someone—when they assured him the room had indoor plumbing in the rooms as well as the power outlet to charge his phone, not that he had anything to charge his phone with anymore. 

His room was on the second floor at the end of the hall. Crowley was minorly grateful he didn’t have to haul his massive suitcase up the flight of stairs. It was a modest room with a queen-size bed, a kitchenette, and a bathroom with a large claw-foot tub. It wasn’t unlike a place he’d find in a hotel which surprised him, pleasantly so, but still had been made to look like it’d been furnished back when rampant sexism had been stylish. 

Crowley spotted an end table and tugged it over near his window. He set down Dennis and checked over his leaves. No spots, no sign of heavy stress. Crowley still glared at him for good measure. “We will discuss your fraternizing…later.”

He kicked off his boots by the door before opening his phone. It was at forty percent battery. Enough to make a few purchases with still some life to spare, he hoped. He ordered a few essentials: clothes, bathroom products, a new charger in case the gift shop didn’t sell them, and a few other miscellaneous comforts he’d need in that hellhole of a town. 

A series of loud thumps echoed from the door. Crowley blinked from his groggy haze, only then realizing he’d passed out during his purchase frenzy. No light streamed in through the wooden blinds of his room. He let out a groan and stretched his aching muscles, then glanced at his clock. It wasn’t even six in the morning yet. 

Either Aziraphale was all too eager to get them to work, which wasn’t a horribly unpleasant idea. Or, something else had happened, something that had to do with some maniac on the back of a massive black steed. He rolled off the bed and stumbled over to the door. Crowley yanked it open.

A young woman with dark hair and keen eyes stared back at him. She held a bundle of fresh towels in her hands. 

Crowley eyed them. “If you’re here for room service, I’m going to take those towels and toss them out the bloody window.”

“If you do that, you’ll end up washing your own towels from here on out. Besides,” she sniffed, raising her chin. “That’s not why I’m here. There’s been another murder, Sergeant Crowley.” 

He shuddered; always hated the title. “Please, just Crowley. And you, towel girl, you’ve got a name?”

“Avery. Pleasure to meet you despite the hour and the circumstances.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He groaned, realizing he wouldn’t have time for a bath, or even a change of clothes even if they’d been available. “Who’s the victim? Who sent you here? And where in the nine circles of Hell can I get a decent cup of coffee?”

Avery tilted her head at him, redoubling her keen calculating eyes, but gave him a small smile of approval. “Mr. Sandalphon, the baker, was coming into his shop when he heard something. Said he found Dr. Sable dead in front of his clinic. He ran over here and found me cleaning up and asked me to tell you. And, no, no one sells coffee here. If you want some, you’ll have to order it online or something. We do have an electric pot for tea or coffee I could bring to your room later if you like. If you need a drink, most of us here prefer tea.”

“Of course, you do. Right, I need to get to work then. Don’t skimp on the towels, Ave.” 

She left with a nod. Crowley grabbed his phone, slipped on his shoes, and tried not to trip down the stairs as he headed for the door. That had not been what he’d meant by an early start. 

And so, there Crowley stood, freezing in the early gray of dawn with no coat, no equipment, and not even fucking police tape. He swore under his breath and pulled out his phone. He needed the flashlight even if it would drain his battery. 

The body lay in a crumpled heap at the door to the clinic. Judging by the ring of keys tossed into the flowerbed next to it, he had been attacked before opening his door. Probably been ambushed. Crowley would have to take their word on the victim’s identity as the man’s head didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight. The theory that the previous victim’s head had been severed and cauterized on impact seemed farfetched or would have if he wasn’t staring at an identical wound on his current victim. He scanned the ground, oddly free of glistening pools of blood. On an injury such as this, there would typically be near a fountain of it; however, whatever weapon that lunatic used had to be insanely hot to damage in such a way. And even more powerful. 

He groaned, stomping back to the road. Crowley needed to call in help, at least for forensics. Because his position would normally be for settling small disputes or watching for petty theft, he _was_ left in charge of handling the minor criminal activity in the area. However, a serial killer meant a call to head office. 

Crowley rang the station in Bedford. It was the nearest town, much more so than whatever hell Sleepy Hollow was at least. And was technically his main office on the force.

“What?” Drawled a voice on the other end of the line.

“Uh, hey, this is Sergeant Crowley, Sleepy Hollow office, well not yet technically as your man hasn’t gotten here yet to swear me in, but things have escalated so we’ll have to skip that part. Who’s this?”

“Hang on.”

Crowley couldn’t quite blame them for being so bloody grouchy that early in the morning. 

“This had better be important,” snarled a new voice in his ear. 

Crowley could almost imagine fangs sinking into him through the line and shivered. “Ah, yeah, this is Sergeant Anthony Crowley, Sleepy Hollow. Dealing with the murder case here.”

“Yes, and?”

“Okay…well, I just wanted you to know there’s been another homicide.”

“Shit,” growled the voice.

“And I’m speaking to?”

“Chief Inspector Dagon. Sounds like you need me to send out forensics. Expect the paperwork at Scarlett’s office in a few hours along with a spare key.”

Crowley froze. His throat bobbed once as he knew he’d heard that name before. “Scarlett?”

“Yes, former Sergeant ‘Scarlett’ Zuigiber. You got your keys from Gabriel already, right?”

Crowley worked his jaw, but no words dared leave his lips. He had not known that this was a police murder investigation. His blood seemed to freeze beneath his skin. So much more made sense and came to weight under that tiny bit of information. Crowley could almost hear the smile in his supervisor’s voice. 

“Oh, they didn’t tell you, did they? Ah, well, Beez has their way. Did they tell you we went to cadet training together? We go back _quite_ a ways. You must have really been a real shitbag for Beez to dump this on you with no warning. I’ll be sure to send your love their way.” Dagon’s words oozed through the phone.

Crowley hung his head, wondering if he should’ve just resigned. “There’s nothing I can say in my defense, is there?”

“Damned if you do and damned if you don’t.”

“Great, so anyway,” he might as well get back to business. “You’re still sending out a forensic team, right…please?”

There was silence for a few heartbeats before Dagon hissed out a sigh. “Very well. They’ll be there in an hour. In the meantime, get the scene secure and get your key from the mayor. I don’t have time to hold your hand through your job, so get this solved by the end of the week or find yourself another line of work!” The line clicked. 

_Great motivational speech_, Crowley mused to himself and put his phone back in his pocket. He glanced up, eyeing the small crowd that had started to form around the clinic. He was grateful for the stone fencing around the buildings, keeping the onlookers at bay for the most part. 

Crowley raised his hands and placed himself in between the citizens and the path to the body. “Alright folks, let’s clear the way, please. Forensics is on their way, so if any of you don’t want to be mistaken for a criminal, I suggest you step back and go on about your way.” His eyes caught a patch of fluffy blond hair, and some of his tension eased away. 

Aziraphale stepped forward, still wearing an overly detailed coat with matching waistcoat. Crowley hoped he wouldn’t be too upset if it got a little tarnished, then he blinked. Aziraphale held a tartan thermos, much out of the time period for their living museum, but like hell, he was about to point that out. 

“Is that tea?”

“Coffee, actually.”

“Oh, angel. I could kiss you.” He snatched the thermos, keeping his eyes deliberately on his task of opening it. He would not acknowledge the words that had slipped from his mouth, that would have to wait until he could turn his mind off from the investigation. 

Aziraphale, to his credit, stammered only a little. “W-we have it shipped to the house weekly. I thought you may prefer this over tea.”

Crowley gulped down the steaming beverage. “You guessed right. Oh, that’s good.” He allowed his gaze to flick back at him. “So, you failed to mention something yesterday. But, well, to be honest, I was supposed to know about it by then.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale tilted his head, appearing unaware to his reference. 

“Scarlett was the officer stationed here last.”

Aziraphale glanced to the side. “I see. I had hoped they’d mentioned it to you, and when you didn’t say anything about it yesterday, I was worried.”

“Worried?” Crowley raised an eyebrow and took another sip of coffee.

“Well, I didn’t want you to be worried about your safety, or, perhaps, wish for a re-assignment.” He didn’t meet Crowley’s eyes. Aziraphale clasped his hands behind his back, then he huffed as though remembering something. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. I almost forgot.” He retrieved a key from his pocket. “I forgot to give you this last night. I do apologize.” 

Crowley accepted the key. “I have a feeling this goes to Scarlett’s office?” 

“Yes, Gabriel gave it to me yesterday. After everything that happened, I was too overwhelmed to remember to give it to you, dear.”

Crowley shoved the key in his pocket. “No problem. Means we have somewhere we need to go before forensics gets here. You said there was a Sergeant Shadwell somewhere?”

“Yes, but not the same kind as you.”

Crowley waved a hand. “That’s fine. Should work for what I need. He here?” He glanced at the small crowd, still scanning for a look at the body. 

“Ah, yes.” Aziraphale bounced on his toes, eyeing the crowd, then waved over a pair of men. “Crowley, meet Sergeant Shadwell and his right-hand man, Newton Pulsifer.”

Crowley nodded at them. “Hey, guys. I hear you’re the men of the hour.”

“Oh?” Shadwell beamed, puffing out his chest. “Well, I don’t know about that, but we live to serve.”

“Great.” Crowley placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Glad to hear it. I have a very important mission for the pair of you, big stuff, vital to the investigation and all.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so, laddie. We in the Witchfinder Army are here to help.”

Crowley flashed his teeth. “Brilliant. I’ve got an errand I need to run before the forensics team gets here. I need you two to make sure nobody, and I mean nobody goes anywhere near that body or that clinic while I’m gone.”

Newton glanced back at the corpse. “Does that include the, um, forensics people?” 

Crowley applauded himself for keeping his smile on his face. “No, let them in when they get here. Call me if they’re here, and I’m not back yet.”

“Don’t have a phone,” Shadwell said with a slight grimace. “Living History Museum and, well, we are dedicated to our—”

“Yes, yes, fine. Just send someone to get me then. I’ll be at the jail or Fell manor.” Crowley waved as he strode from the scene. He needed to check Scarlett’s office and needed to get his hands on any extra equipment. Then, he and Mayor Gabriel, the bloody bastard, needed to have a little chat about getting warrants and cooperation for his investigation. He glanced back and nodded at Aziraphale to follow. 

“Sorry,” he said, catching up with Crowley. “I didn’t know if you wanted me to stay behind or not.”

Crowley smirked as they walked. “Angel, just assume if I’m going somewhere, that means you too. Unless, you know, you don’t want to. I already told you we’re in this together.” 

“Yes, I suppose you did.” 

“Plus, you brought me coffee. I owe you a lot for that.”

Aziraphale let out a huff, but his lips had still quirked into a smile. “It was only coffee.”

“Only coffee? It’s the lifeblood of the universe, that stuff. I’d be a complete mess without it.”

“Perhaps you should drink a bit more then, my dear.”

Crowley faked a pained look. “Oh, you are such a bastard.”

“And you love it,” Aziraphale flushed as the words left his mouth.

Crowley almost faceplanted and stumbled to recover. 

“I mean, uh, I was just. So, where are we going?” Aziraphale stared straight ahead as they walked.

“Oh,” Crowley coughed, willing his voice to sound casual. “To the jailhouse thing, I assumed that’s also where we’ll find Scarlett’s office.”

Aziraphale slowed his pacing. “Yes, but, um.”

“What?”

“It’s behind us, dear.”

“Ah,” Crowley said, sighing and turned around. “Right, then. Shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is turning out to be so much more than some quick Halloween fic, so I will update it as soon as possible. But I do still need to work on my other fanfics as I am now behind on them. I'm sorry!!! Please know I love you all and I hope you enjoy the stories!! 
> 
> ~\\(≧▽≦)/~


	3. Where the Heads Roll

Crowley opened the door to the jail and stood in horror. 

Papers were scattered across the floor like a blood splatter of white and cream-colored mayhem. The worn leather office chair had been toppled over in the middle of the room. And a giant stack of dusty files hived in the corner as though hiding some enormous monster, daring anyone to disturb the unkempt sanctuary. 

The jail was not much more than a small office or would have been without the exception of two large holding cells, complete with old iron bars, at the back of the room. A massive key ring hung from the wall near the desk. Its metal tainted with rust and grime. 

He tried to repress a groan as he noticed the desk area lacked two major essentials. First, there was the absence of a computer, and second, was the area for a receptionist. Crowley didn’t mind talking to people, usually enjoyed it, in fact. However, if he had to answer every bloody question from every bloody person that came through that door, he knew he’d never get any work done. 

Aziraphale stepped inside after him and seemed to notice the tightening in his eyes. “Is everything okay, my dear?”

Crowley shrugged, picking up papers. “Fine. It’s all fine. Guess I can add a B&E to the list of crimes I need to investigate.”

“Oh, um, actually, this appears quite reminiscent of the former Ms. Scarlett. She had her own methods of…organization, as it were.”

Crowley snorted, gathering up more documents. “Or the complete lack thereof, more like. How’d she’d ever get anything done in this mess is beyond human understanding.”

Aziraphale chuckled and stooped, helping him gather the papers. 

“Right,” Crowley said after they’d placed all the documents on the desk. “So, that means I have no computer _and_ no help against the onslaught of curious nosy tourists, just bloody brilliant.” His fingers dug into the edge of the desk. He needed to think, he needed a plan, and the chaos that surrounded him did not bode well for that happening any time soon.

“Well, that is not entirely true.” Aziraphale clasped his hands behind his back. “As your trusted officer-in-training, I can also serve as your receptionist when my duties don’t call me elsewhere.”

Crowley glanced at him, almost sure he was joking. But, he was only met with blinding honesty. He felt like it should be scorching him; it seemed so pure. “You really are an angel, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale blushed. “Oh, please. There is no need for that. I don’t see what else I would do with my time when we are not hot on a case, or however you call it.”

Crowley tried not to let his face heat. He tried to ignore the fact that the man had just implied that with all his given free time, he wanted to be around Crowley and wanted his company. Sure, of course, that’s what _friends_ would do, or at least co-workers. He’d probably heard of Crowley’s police record and just wanted to learn to hone his skills or something. 

Besides, even if he could allow himself to hope for something at least, it was normal for friends to spend a lot of time together, bring each other drinks, or even pick them up in elegant carriages; _sure_, lots of friends did that, he just couldn’t think of any at the moment. 

He blinked, realizing he hadn’t given Aziraphale an answer. “Oh, yeah. Course that would work out perfect, actually.”

“Wonderful. And, as far as the computer,” Aziraphale continued. “I think we can have one here by the end of the week. I don’t know what kind you would like, but if you give me the specifications—”

“No.” Crowley shook his head. “You don’t have to do that, angel. Shouldn’t take bribes and all, remember?”

Aziraphale huffed in annoyance. “If I work here too, then it’s not a bribe, now is it? And besides, the mayor is the one who can grant additional funding, and he is my brother, if he has a problem with it, then he can answer to me.”

Crowley couldn’t help his spreading smile. “I guess that’s fine then. You aren’t wrong, at least. Don’t worry too much about the specs. Anything with at least a few hundred gigs of storage and a decent processor should work. Oh,” he groaned, then glanced at Aziraphale. “Any idea if they have Wi-Fi here?”

“If memory serves me, the gift shop needed it for tourists a few years back, so they did install a cable out here. Gabriel complained about the costs, but it did drive up sales, so it all worked out in the end. Also, they wired a few of the other buildings up to the gift shop, which would include the jailhouse in theory. I didn’t see the map myself, but I heard Gabriel mention it once before.”

“Oh, for someone’s sake, I hope so. Going to need one of those modem-router combos then. Won’t do us any good if we can’t send emails back to head office.”

“Perfect, um, I might need a list of what you require. I, well, I’m not entirely sure what to look for in regards to the modem or router.”

Crowley could sense the tension leaving his shoulders. “Sure, angel. I’ll get you the list tonight. For now, we need to make a case file for the murder. If the officer was the one killed, I doubt anyone here made a file for it or gathered evidence.”

“Actually,” Aziraphale said and walked over to a rather large and slightly rusted filing cabinet next to the desk. He rummaged through the drawers before pulling out a thin folder. 

Crowley accepted it and opened the manila file. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I have read quite a few detective novels, you see. And while I know they are riddled with holes for actual procedure, they do suffice as a guideline when certain situations arise. Not to mention, I have studied much on criminology, criminal procedure and evidence, and basic criminal psychology.”

Crowley blinked, and his eyes brightened as he scanned through the papers. “Well, I don’t think there’s any doubt of who’s getting their Christmas bonus. This is perfect. You’ve really outdone yourself, angel. You’ve got soil samples, photos, statements, almost everything we need to get started.”

Aziraphale bounced once on his toes. “Well, I do pride myself in being thorough.” 

“As much as I want to organize this hellhole, we now have two murders to solve, so let’s go dig up some evidence. We need to find something for Dr. Sable’s case file. Somehow I have a strong suspicion that the two are related.”

“You mean like the headless man, riding the giant black horse, and wielding a giant sword the night of the second murder?”

Crowley refiled the folder and led them back to the door. “Well, he wasn’t really headless. There was a flaming pumpkin, remember?”

Aziraphale appeared to shiver at the thought. “True. I have a feeling it won’t be the last time we see that either. I do wonder how our killer managed that bit of theatrics.” 

“There’s plenty you can do with pyrotechnics. Probably means our criminal has lots of money or an investor. Either way, it’s not good for us.” 

Aziraphale nodded as they stepped out into the morning light. 

Crowley locked the door and slipped the key back into his pocket. “I’ll get you yours when the bundle from head office arrives. Said it has a spare key for us.”

“Oh, thank you, my dear.”

Crowley rolled his shoulders, then glanced at his partner. “I’m letting you know this now cause, well,”—If Crowley were being honest with himself, he didn’t want to worry or hurt Aziraphale when he had to shift his personality into work mode. He knew he came across as cold and calculating, which was not how he wanted to be with him, but he knew it was one of those necessary evils of the world—“going forward, with the case, I need to, uh, come across, or think a certain way. I don’t want you to think that I’m displeased with you or your work.”

“I see.” Aziraphale nodded, but his eyebrows had knitted together as though he were puzzling out his words. 

“I have to be hard. A hard, calculating version of me, so don’t think, or I mean, I don’t want you to think that…”

Aziraphale placed a hand on his shoulder. “You be how you need to be. I know you’d never try to hurt someone on purpose with words or otherwise.”

“But this isn’t about some person. It’s about—” He coughed, realizing the path he was unknowingly rabbit trailing down. He glanced away, almost praying that the black rider would appear as a distraction. 

“Ah.” Aziraphale didn’t say anything else.

“Let’s get back to the crime scene.”

“Right oh, after you.” Aziraphale gestured with a sweep of his hand. 

Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered back down the road.

Most of the crowd had dispersed by the time they got back. The daylight brought to light a few clues Crowley had missed in his previous sweep of the scene. He pulled out his phone and unlocked it, then turned to Aziraphale. “You know how to use this kind?”

Aziraphale nodded, more in a way that suggested ‘not really, but he could figure it out.’ 

“I’m going to point out some evidence. We need to keep the voice recorder on, and I’ll need you to snap some pictures. Might have to get my hands dirty, so that’s why I need you to handle the phone.”

Aziraphale straightened a bit as he accepted the small device. “So, you’re not just giving me some menial task to keep me busy?”

“Course not. I wasn’t lying when I said I needed you.”

Aziraphale hesitated, then started opening the necessary apps on the phone. “I had hoped that was the case.”

It took a real effort for Crowley to not switch from his work mode. He filed away the comment for a later visitation. Probably sometime after he went to bed or was at least alone. He let out a deep breath, focusing his mind. As the evidence suggested, they probably had a serial killer on the loose. If he allowed for distractions, then more lives could be on the line. Crowley glanced at his partner. Lives that were in direct connection with him could be in danger. 

The edges of Crowley’s eyes hardened. “Alright, let’s get started. Voice recorder on?”

“Yes, ready when you are.”

“Good. Victim seems to be in his mid-thirties, male. Decapitation appears to be cause of death with one sweep and with what seems to be charring along the point of impact that continues across the entire cut. Means the murder weapon was probably a very large sword or meat cleaver. There are hoof marks in the soil near the front gate. Make sure to get pictures of those. His keys are here in the bushes. Pictures here too, please, and don’t take just one of each. I’ll never get upset over too many pictures.” He glanced as Aziraphale hurried, yet careful not to leave the stone path and contaminate evidence and snapped a few shots. 

His eyes appeared keen and calculating. Aziraphale absorbed the scene as though they were words on a page. Crowley bit his lip in thought and saw an opportunity. “Alright, partner, what do you see?”

Aziraphale paused, and his throat bobbed once. His eyes darted around the scene. He glanced at the body, the flower beds, then gazed at the door. “The lack of blood is disconcerting. Not that it really needs to be noted, though perhaps it is good to have it recorded.” He seemed to internally chide himself as he huffed out a breath, then narrowed his eyes. “Judging by the hoof marks. The rider left the beast at the gate, dismounted, and struck down his victim on foot. As noted, there appears to be only one slash, yet this foot is at an odd angle, suggesting that the victim broke it, possibly while attempting to escape his assailant. And that would mean…” Aziraphale darted for the street, his eyes fixed to the ground. Crowley ambled after him, giving him space to work. 

After a few yards, Aziraphale shouted in triumph. “Here!” He pointed down the dirt path next to the gift shop. A massive trail of horse hooves both led toward and away from them. “The doctor was ambushed near here, then the culprit returned down the same way he came. My guess is that our rider has some sort of hold east of town, perhaps in the woods beyond that tree line.” He glanced back at Crowley with a beaming smile.

Crowley couldn’t help himself. He placed a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder and squeezed once. “Very well done, angel. You are a natural detective.” 

“Oh, thank you, dear.” 

Crowley pulled his hand back, trying to completely ignore his pounding heart, and instead chilled his veins with cold hard facts. Distracting was turning out to be not a strong enough word. “Right, let’s get some more photos here. I want to examine the body once more before checking out this lead. If my gut says anything about this, which it’s usually right, then our horseman isn’t done yet. So, doubt he’ll skip town any time soon.” 

They walked back with Crowley’s brain piecing together puzzle parts and growing frustrated as none of them seemed to want to snap together. He knew there was an angle he was missing, but thankfully, he knew where to start. Crowley waited until they had rescanned the outside of the doctor’s house and spoken to both Shadwell and Newt once more before heading back to the trail of hoofprints. 

“Is your brother going to be home tonight?”

Aziraphale glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. “Of course. Why do you ask?”

“I need to go over the financial records for the city, specifically for the jail and the doctor.”

“Do you think there is a link?”

Crowley grunted and shrugged his shoulders. “Not sure, but there is always one thing for certain. If we follow the money, then we find the motive.”

Aziraphale grimaced. “Is that always the case?”

“No, but crimes of passion or sadism are usually quite obvious at a scene as is any other psychotic tendencies. The money route is always a safe bet like this when the motive isn’t apparent. So, it’s a good place to start looking. The second obvious scenario is that the former officer and doctor were having an affair, and someone wasn’t happy about that.”

“Yes, that does make sense. Well, actually, I was going to say that it might be a bit difficult for you to speak to him tonight. But, if you arrive under false pretense, I think you could work it to your advantage. You could actually follow up on both possibilities as it were.”

It was Crowley’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “What kind of scheme did you have in mind?”

They followed the trail of prints to an open field before the tree line. Searching in the daylight would be far easier than at night. 

“Well, I was going to ask you earlier, but it seemed improper with the second murder and all.”

Crowley stopped walking to look at him.

“There’s a party tonight. It is the weekend before All Hollow’s Eve, and Fell manor traditionally hosts a gathering for the town and any potential investors.”

Crowley relaxed, then rested his hands on his hips. “Want me to accompany you to the party?”

Aziraphale glanced away, wetting his lips once. “Only if you want, but I mean, there would be many people for you to interview, and gossip always seems to spring up at these events. I think you, well, both of us could gather a bit of intel without trying hard. The wine usually helps with that as well.”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea, angel. But I don’t have any extra clothes to wear. I think I’d stick out less if I dressed like the damned horseman.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Oh, I think I can take care of that. Mind if I make a call?”

“If you must,” Crowley said with a sigh. If he wasn’t careful, he suspected that man was going to spoil him. Maybe he could get him something in return—focus, he couldn’t afford distractions. He scanned the tree line, barely listening as Aziraphale called in his favor. 

The underbrush appeared thick, but not too much so that they couldn’t pass through. Yet, he knew the wildlife would probably venture back in forth between the heavily wooded area and the clearing. Crowley narrowed his eyes, then trudged down the trees a few paces before spying a winding deer trail. The herds had trampled the grass flat long ago, leaving large patches of dirt to make up most of their path. 

“Oy, angel. Found something.”

Aziraphale hurried a quick goodbye into the speaker before trotting over to the trail. His eyes roamed over the packed earth, then he clasped a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “Oh, good lord. I was right.” He glanced over the trail of massive horse hooves that peppered the soil. He brought up the phone, taking a few pictures. “This means we can locate the rider or at least scout the area. I bet we could even set a trap!”

Crowley snorted. “Don’t get over-excited. We don’t have any gear or back-up for a stakeout or trap. This is purely for intel. Gathering evidence and all. We want to avoid any confrontations until we have more to go on.”

“So, we are not going into the forest to follow the horseman?”

“Oh, no. We are most definitely going in there. We just need to do it in a sneaky way. Pretend you’re a garden snake or something. We slither in, get some photos, bit of evidence, and slither out.”

“All in time for lunch?” Aziraphale held a smile in his eyes.

Crowley pointed a finger at him. “Exactly.”

They stepped into the brush, letting the trail guide them along. Crowley heard Aziraphale snapping pictures of tracks as they walked. He glanced around at the foliage. Some of the plants had been trampled, and a few branches had been broken. 

“Right,” Crowley said with his eyes darting. “Best to keep your guard up. Keep an eye on my six while we’re in here.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

Crowley glanced back at him with an eyebrow raised. “So, we don’t get ambushed or something.”

Aziraphale flicked a cheeky gaze at him as he snapped a few more pictures. “Of course, that’s what you meant.”

Crowley glanced back ahead before his cheeks could tint with a creeping flush or before he lost his cop senses. There they were alone in the forest searching for a murderer, and his partner was there making flirtatious comments with him. It wasn’t like he was going to tell him to stop, more because he feared if he opened his mouth, he’d just play them into a much more heated witty banter until one of them was pressed against a tree—focus! Oh, bloody hell. Maybe it had been too long since he’d been laid. How long had it been? Probably just a year…or five. Maybe more.

The canopy around them scattered long shadows through the forest. The once bright and sunny day appeared now tinged with gray as though rain could patter down at any minute. 

“Do you remember rain in the forecast for today?”

“No, why?” Aziraphale glanced around, then back at the phone. “You have a weather app, yes?” He tapped a few buttons as Crowley continued to scan their surroundings. “No, not even cloudy today. It could be wrong, I suppose.”

“Odd.” Crowley swallowed down a lump. Something didn’t feel right. The sensation of being watched was a key survival instinct that any officer had to learn and fast. 

Aziraphale leaned closer to him. “What’s wrong?”

Crowley wet his lips. “I have the distinct feeling that we’re being watched.”

The air around them clung to them to a near suffocating degree. Crowley noted the lack of birds chirping, or insects buzzing about. They knew a predator hunted in those woods. 

“Stay close,” he hissed and eased them on deeper into the darkening thicket. 

They continued down the deer trail. The silence of the forest unnerved him. Crowley’s eyes darted around, but still, nothing moved, not even a breeze disturbed the woods. Dead leaves blanketed the ground as they edged deeper down the trail. 

Despite the lack of brick and smoke-filled air, it reminded Crowley of the city. There had been rough nights where he had to track down a suspect through the darkened alleys, where the suspect had been armed, sporting a firearm. Crowley knew fear. He knew what it felt like, what it did to the human body. Fear could freeze up a man, leaving him defenseless in the face of oblivion, or in most cases, on the wrong end of a gun. He knew it could slow the reflexes, poison the mind with doubt, or transform blood into ice. There had always been reasons for fear, but it had been something he could push away with ease. Crowley knew the risks on the force. He had come to terms that he would probably die unmarried, alone, and as some no-name officer, whose death would be old news within a week. 

More than once, he’d tracked down a known killer to the barge docks, weaving through the massive metal containers as he searched for the perp. Always alone with back up on the way. Over the years, they had arranged partners for him. Yet, each one had transferred, either to a new officer or even all the way to a new precinct. Crowley knew he wasn’t the easiest to get along with. He was cold, calculating, and he didn’t allow others to get close. So, why now? He had no idea how this man could show up in his life, and put him at ease, bring him such peace. 

Crowley glanced back, and a new fear slithered into his heart. Maybe that was why no one wanted to stick around for too long. He could see himself driving them away, some underlying desire to not have to deal with their deaths, never mourn their final heartbeats. Crowley tore his gaze away before their eyes could meet, and he stumbled to a halt. 

The reek of decay assaulted his nose, stinging his eyes, and forced him to cover his mouth with his hand. He stared before him at the scattered bodies that peppered the tiny clearing. They were the corpses of deer, littering the ground. Most were decapitated with heads that had rolled away. The air hung thick with the scent of blood and death. And at the center of the mass slaughter rested and enormous gnarled tree. Roots twisted like matted hair down into the black earth. The branches remained bare, reminding Crowley of demonic arms reaching out for any poor bastard dumb enough to get close.

Aziraphale appeared beside him with a lace handkerchief covering his mouth and nose. “What the hell is going on here?”

Crowley stifled a gag and took a step forward. “I don’t know. But I think it’s related, and I really wish it wasn’t. Definitely screams bloody psychopath, maybe a bit of devil worship too.” He nodded to a crimson circle painted at the base of the tree. “Know of any witches in your group?”

Aziraphale shook his head. His face had drained, but he seemed able to stay standing. 

Crowley was surprised that neither of them had retched from the stench because, honestly, it was only a matter of time. He shuddered, then glanced at his partner. “Let’s get as many photos as we can. Turn on the voice recorder again.”

Aziraphale nodded and sucked in a breath, probably realizing he would need both hands on the phone. 

“If you need to vomit, it’s fine, pretty normal actually. Might have to myself in a minute.” He burped and covered his hand with his mouth again. “Okay. Dead animals; looks like mostly deer. Decapitated, same MO as our killer.” Crowley stepped closer to the tree. He scanned the ground, noting the hoof tracks and eyeing the circle painted at the base of the massive oak. “Looks like there are some cult symbols painted inside the circle. We will need a lot of photos, some good closeups. I’ll need clear images for the database. If these symbols have been used before, there’s a website that keeps track of their meaning and desired uses. Comes in handy for times like this.”

“Good to know.” Aziraphale appeared concentrating very hard on his task. 

Crowley knew he probably wouldn’t be accustomed to blood, but he seemed to be handling himself well. Aziraphale had to know that finding something so awful was always possible, and like he’d said, he’d read those crime novels, and they always had dead bodies or something nasty for the detectives to find. Crowley spotted a mound of fresh dirt behind the tree. “Angel, over here when you get a chance. I think the ground has been disturbed here recently.”

Aziraphale weaved around the mangled animals. “Do you think it could be…the heads?”

Crowley grimaced at the fluffy soil. “Only one way to find out. But we’ll need a shovel and other equipment. Can you mark this spot on the GPS? There should be an app on the main page.”

Aziraphale scrolled through the phone before tapping buttons. “Not enough signal.”

“Damn! Worth a shot. Come on. Let’s get out of here before—”

Crowley’s stomach dropped as the thunderous clop of hoofbeats echoed into the clearing. A massive black steed charged into the opening, trampling over the decaying flesh. On its back sat the black-cloaked figure, blade in one hand, and nothing but rotten meat along its empty neck. It snapped the reins up, jolting the horse to a stop, then turned as though it could see them, sense their fear among the scattered bodies. 

Crowley gritted his teeth and snarled as he charged forward, “Run, Aziraphale!”


	4. Fire and Silk

The horseman swept the sword out to his side. It gleamed from between the leathery fingers of his gloved hand, then burst with a searing fire that snaked down the blackened steel. Tendrils of scarlet flames surged out, ready to devour the flesh of its prey. 

The air rippled with shadows around them as though the horseman could call upon Hell itself. Mud-stained boots slammed into the steed’s flanks, sending flecks of dirt to fan out behind them. The horse screamed with a soul-wrenching cry that could only be found from specters of the darkest nightmare, a thing that devoured the guilty and damned from the inside. Its piercing ring shivered through the air. The beast’s eyes blazed with the same heat at its master’s sword as it charged, trampling over the blood-stained, leafy ground. 

Crowley’s eyes widened with a frosted chill of fear that began to consume him. Yet he knew he didn’t have time to be afraid. He stumbled forward, snatching up a fallen branch and hurled it at the racing steed. The gnarled limb smacked into the horse’s head. The beast stumbled and spun in a circle, shaking its matted mane. Its rider hauled on the reins and attempted to gain control of the rearing creature. 

Crowley spun, eyeing his partner. Aziraphale hovered at the edge of the clearing. His eyebrows had knitted together, and the magnificent bastard had managed to hold up the phone, pointing it directly at the horseman. If they hadn’t been caught off guard and moments from running for their lives, Crowley would’ve been quite proud of his quick thinking. However, those couple of seconds could’ve been what he’d needed to escape. He swore, hoping Aziraphale hadn’t doomed himself to the same fate by sticking around. Crowley ground his teeth, then darted back for him and seized his hand. 

“I told you to run,” he snarled and dragged them through the trees. Crowley replayed the map of the trail in his mind. His internal compass had never let him down so far, but winding through a concrete jungle wasn’t the same as the spidery weave of a dense forest. He snaked them through the thick underbrush, and to where he hoped to find the large clearing. 

Hooves thundered behind them. 

The nesting brambles and branches snagged at their clothes. Crowley didn’t dare look back as long as he grasped Aziraphale’s hand. They had to get out of there. He knew they were on the horseman’s hit list, though he _had_ hoped to catch the killer in his off time and not the other way around. Crowley panted as they raced on. He could feel Aziraphale’s pace slowing, tugging him back.

The heavy air filled with a strangled cry. Aziraphale’s fingers slipped from his grasp. The absence of warmth left behind a chilling void. One that shot a spike a fear through his veins.

Crowley stumbled and snarled out a curse. He whirled around, ready to face whatever hellish nightmare had come for them. His eyes fell. Aziraphale had collapsed to one knee with his hands wrapped around his ankle. His features had twisted into something sharp in contrast to his usual soft edges. Crowley surged forward, placing his hands on his shoulders. 

Aziraphale winced between gasps. “I…I think it’s broken.”

Thundering hoofbeats echoed through the forest, growing louder with each frantic heartbeat. The sound hummed in the air as though the horseman could surround them, riding on the wind. He seemed to stalk through the trees, waiting for the right moment to strike with his blackened blade of flame. 

Crowley’s hands trembled as he eased Aziraphale’s grip away. He brushed his fingers along the cream-colored stocking. The ankle appeared swollen beneath the thin fabric. 

Crowley’s eyes snapped up. “Come on. I’ll help you.”

Aziraphale slapped his hands away. “Idiot! Go now. You can make it back. I took a video and pictures.” He thrust the phone into his hands. “I’ll distract him.”

“I’m not leaving you here to be a distraction, angel,” Crowley said with a trembling snarl. “If you think I’d actually leave, then you’re the bloody idiot.” He looped an arm under Aziraphale’s shoulder.

His partner hissed in pain, but they stood. Crowley braced him best he could, but the uneven ground seemed relentless against them. Each step forward painted a new wave of anguish into Aziraphale’s tightened features and felt like a stone dropping down Crowley’s gut, smashing into his bones. He’d never wanted to see Aziraphale in such a state, and especially when there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Even if it was inevitable in his line of work, it didn’t make the burden any less crushing.

A horse gave a whinnying scream. The rider was close. Too close.

“I’m so sorry, my dear.” Aziraphale’s lips quivered as he spoke. The tremor in his words drove a spike back into Crowley’s resolve. He would make sure Aziraphale lived through to see another day. He wasn’t exactly sure how yet, but he’d always done a stellar job at improvising.

Crowley hooked his fingers through Aziraphale’s grasp, holding him tight. He knew he himself wasn’t clever enough to strategize a way out of their mess, but there was someone he believed that could. Someone clinging to his chest with a mind muddled with agony and creasing with worry. “Angel, if we survive this, you have to know this is not uncommon for us. Every day our lives are on the line. You have to keep your head. Have to keep your wits. Our job isn’t easy, but we’re all that stands between these bastards and the rest of the world. Are you giving up on them now? The innocent ones? Or will you protect them?” He glanced over, meeting his partner’s eyes.

Aziraphale bit back at the apparent agony, hardening the tremble in his lips with a bit more resolve. “No, I’m not done yet.”

Crowley gave him a tight lopsided grin. “Good.”

A scattering of young conifers behind them crumpled to the ground from the swish of a ringing blade. The headless rider charged through the remaining cluster of trees with his flaming sword pointed at them. 

“Get down,” Crowley roared, tugging Aziraphale down against a large oak. The flaming blade sliced through the wood above their heads. The scent of charred bark enveloped the air, choking their senses. 

Crowley bared his teeth and pressed his partner behind him. There had to be something, anything he could do. 

The horseman reared his steed and turned in a quick circle. His blade flipped in his hand. 

“Come on, you fucker!” Crowley stood, edging forward. Maybe the horseman had been after_ him_ all along. If Aziraphale did survive this, Crowley had no doubt his partner could solve the case. He was clever and brave and—oh, shit—now was not the time for a dramatic epiphany of gooey feelings. 

He threw himself forward to the ground as the blade sliced through the air. 

“Crowley!” Aziraphale tried to stand, then settled for crawling after him. Rippling agony played across his face, drawing sharp hisses from his pale lips.

“Stay back, you idiot. Both of us don’t need to die.” He yelped, tumbling aside as the horse stomped closer. The damn thing was playing whack-a-mole with him, and one wrong move would send its massive hooves through his ribcage.

Aziraphale continued to crawl forward, dragging his injured leg behind him. “Please, Crowley.”

The horse reared again, and Crowley scrambled, trying to dodge the flaming steel and monstrous mud-caked hooves. His movements had slowed just enough to give the psychotic killer an edge. He realized he couldn’t skirt away this time. All he could do was hope, and maybe pray, that it would be over quick and that if Aziraphale could manage to escape, then it would be worth it. Not that he wanted to die, at all; however, the thought of losing his heavenly assistant was more terrifying than facing whatever came for him once his heartbeat no more. 

“Sorry,” he whispered, probably to himself, and most definitely not to the blond man who he would give his life if it meant he could continue on. Because if that were the case—which it was entirely not—then it would mean for the first time in his life that he possibly, most likely, if he had to guess, loved someone. And it took him until he was about to die to realize it. 

“Oh, fuck.”

Something splattered against the beast and its rider, sending the horse stumbling to the side and away from the stunned officers. 

The beast rolled, throwing its rider as flames sprang off of them, dark as whispering twilight. The violet and cobalt fire flashed, sending the horse into a kicking frenzy. The headless rider thrashed as though the unsettling blaze seared his flesh even through the billowing cloak. The horse reared and lunged for its rider again. The perp snatched for the girth of the saddle and let the steed drag him back through the trees, leaving the sound of pounding hooves to fade into the distance. 

Crowley squinted after the swaying trees. His mouth hung open as he stared in disbelief. “Not that I’m complaining, but what in the bloody _hell_ was that?” He turned as Aziraphale’s hand clasped his arm.

“Crowley, you’re alright. Oh, thank heavens, you’re alright, my dear.” Aziraphale let out a ragged sigh. His eyes and hands swept over him as though he stood unconvinced that he’d come away unscathed. Sweat clung to his temple and dotted his cheeks. He appeared paler than usual but appeared intact other than his ankle. Once he seemed to become convinced of Crowley’s uninjured state, he raised an arm and tugged him forward.

Crowley let himself be pulled into the embrace. Whatever had happened, they had survived, for now. He couldn’t tell who was trembling, both were probably. The horseman had intended on turning them into human sushi, and in Crowley’s best deductions, had a fixation on him, bound and determined to rip the lone Sergeant from the face of the Earth. However, if it was because Crowley was actually onto something or just in the way, he wasn’t sure. He leaned back and met his partner’s eyes. Something he couldn’t quite place stirred inside their stormy depths. 

“Sorry to interrupt an intimate moment.”

Crowley jerked his head back in the direction of the clipped voice. 

A young woman stood not too far from them. She wore a swirling plum-colored dress with a dark shawl. Crowley noted a black leather bag that hung from one shoulder and appeared bulging at the seams. She wore thick glasses and smirked in a way that made Crowley guess that she enjoyed her nose in a good book over any outdoor strolls. Probably would get along with Aziraphale well enough.

“Who are you?” He angled himself in front of his partner just in case. He didn’t sense any hostilities from her, but after their near-death experience with a freakish headless rider, he wasn’t going to take any chances. 

The woman ambled closer. “Oh, is that any way to treat your rescuer? I was hoping for something along the lines of ‘oh, thank you, Miss Anathema. We owe you our lives’.” She winked before kneeling in front of them. “Nice to see you, Aziraphale.”

He winced still in pain, but the worry lines creasing his partner’s face vanished in recognition. “Oh. What a pleasant surprise, my dear. We must have been fortunate to have wandered near your cottage. Thank you for the admirable rescue.”

Crowley blinked at the exchange, then eyed Aziraphale. “So, you two know each other?”

He nodded and leaned back, glancing at his leg. “Yes, she lives here in the woods. She has the most adorable cottage. Anathema is a very knowledgeable herbalist as well as talented in a few other areas.” 

She flashed another smile at Crowley. “I’m also the resident witch. It’s nice to meet you.”

He nodded once, then rose to his feet. “Suppose thanks are in order. But what the hell did you do? You keep a mini-flamethrower in there or something?” Crowley gave the leather shoulder bag a suspicious glance. 

Anathema giggled as she reached into the bag and revealed a glass bottle about the size of her palm. It held a dark green liquid that had bits of leaves swirling inside of it. 

Crowley squinted at the vial. “Rosemary, sage, and lavender. Please don’t try and tell me you scared away our killer with some fake witchy spell-thing. He’s a real person, you know, flesh and blood. Rosemary isn’t going to work unless all he wants is some seasoning on his food.”

She rolled her eyes and tucked the bottle away. “I see you neglected to tell him my theories,” she glanced at Aziraphale. “No matter how true they may be.” Her gaze swiveled back to Crowley. “Let’s get him back to my place. I have some medicine there and a horse that you can use to get you back to the manor.”

Crowley thought about arguing for a split second before remembering their recent encounter with the horseman. Plus, anything to help Aziraphale at that point would be worth a few superstitious theories. “Great.” He slung an arm around his partner, bracing him for the hopefully short walk. “I’ve got you, angel.” 

“I know, my dear. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Crowley did his best to ignore the way the words made his insides flutter.

He did not regret their decision to take up shelter at the witch’s house. It was a five-minute shamble from where they’d met her, and she apparently was a bigger part of the Living Museum than just the resident witch as she worked at the gift shop from time to time. However, during the All Hollow’s Eve season, she would also have a distinctly different role for the fun of the visiting patrons. Usually, it involved storytelling and handing out candy to the children while wearing her best slightly scary witch’s attire. Aziraphale chimed in at one point to add that he did so love how the kids and even adults enjoyed her spooky renditions of the lore and myths of the land. 

Once inside, Crowley helped him over to the couch before plopping down on the cushions next to him. The cottage was like the others in the village. It was of stone make with furniture like something out of a Jane Austen movie. Which also meant it wasn’t anywhere near as comfortable as Crowley would’ve hoped. He heard Anathema bustling about in the kitchen and realized he needed to be doing more than resting on a less-than-desirable cushioned couch. 

Crowley slid to the floor and knelt before Aziraphale. His partner appeared less strained off his feet, but Crowley knew the pain wasn’t over yet. 

“We need to remove your shoe and stocking to bandage your ankle. If we do it properly, it won’t be too bad on the trip back. Probably need to get you to a hospital after we get there.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I don’t think we will need the hospital. Honestly, the pain is not as bad now. I think I may have simply sprained it. I feel quite embarrassed for my overreaction.” 

“I’d still like a doctor to look it over. If it’s broken, having it mend wrong could affect your entire life, angel.” Crowley’s hand went for Aziraphale’s shoe.

“What are you doing?” Aziraphale leaned forward as though to grab for his hands. His voice had gained an uncertainty as he watched Crowley start to unbuckle his shoe.

Crowley paused his work, then glanced up, realizing Aziraphale was leaning in rather close. His hands hadn’t made it to him as it would’ve put their heads close enough to touch. Crowley felt his throat bob. His eyes seemed locked onto Aziraphale’s own piercing stare. He watched as Aziraphale’s gaze lingered down as he caught his lip between his teeth. Crowley remained frozen, mesmerized by the way Aziraphale’s tongue dragged across his lower lip. The stormy blue of his eyes drifted over him, causing Crowley to shiver under the intensity of his gaze. 

Crowley felt his body leaning forward, inching closer to those pink lips. A part of him waited for Aziraphale to realize what was happening, to lean back, or tell him to fuck off, not that Aziraphale would in such a crass manner. Though, he would probably articulate it so that even Crowley’s dead great-grandparents would roll in their graves from his shame. 

But none of that happened. Crowley lingered just out of reach. His own heartbeat pulsed in his ears as he watched Aziraphale’s eyes flutter closed. Crowley breathed out, letting his warm breath tingle across his lips. 

He watched as Aziraphale shivered and eased forward. 

“Do you guys want some cookies?” Anathema called from the kitchen. 

Crowley flinched back and banged into the coffee table behind him. “Fuck!” He winced, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Everything alright in there?” The clank of ceramic sounded from the kitchen.

“Yep, fine. Everything’s fine.” Crowley glanced back at Aziraphale.

He sat on the couch with his back ramrod straight. His eyes focused on his hands like he worried they’d burst into flames, and a pink flush had crept up his neck that ended near the tips of his ears. 

“Sorry,” Crowley mumbled before scrambling for the kitchen. He sauntered into the room and ran his hand through his hair. His mind remained in two distinct states of being: one of those being thinking of anything other than what had almost happened, and the other being an incoherent babble of screeching humiliation. 

“You okay?” Anathema stared at him with a plate of chocolate biscuits in her hands. She had an eyebrow raised as though she already knew the answer but was being polite for his sake.

“Yeah, yeah. Fine, great, never better.”

“You realize, for a cop, I thought you’d be a better liar. Or, at least, have the ability to lie _in the slightest_.” She strolled back to the living room.

“Shut up,” Crowley said and shoved his hands into his pockets. He decided to chalk up the not-kiss to nerves. That was all it was really. Didn’t need to be anything else. Why _would_ it be anything else? They’d had an intense experience that had clouded their judgment, nothing more. Crowley slid a hand down his face and forced out a deep breath. He followed witch girl back into the room with no idea of what to expect. 

Anathema set the plate on the coffee table, then glanced from Aziraphale and back to Crowley. She pursed her lips. “Okay… I’m going to get some bandages. I have a tincture that will help with the pain and swelling. Do you need help getting your shoe and stocking off?”

“Oh, no. I should be able to get it. Thank you.” He reached down and winced. His fingers couldn’t quite reach the shoe before the muscles in his calf tugged at the tender spot on his ankle. “Well…perhaps, I was a tad optimistic.”

Anathema gave him a warm smile, then stood. “No worries. I’m sure mister red-head here has experience in this area.”

Crowley glared at her as she ambled back toward the kitchen. He didn’t know if he hated this woman or admired her sass. Probably a bit of both. 

Aziraphale gave a nervous laugh at her as she disappeared into the other room. He wrung his hands and avoided Crowley’s eyes. 

“Do you, eh, do you want help with, I mean…” Crowley’s mind clamored for professionalism, while strictly ignoring the part of his mind to spin it into a dirty joke. 

“Do you mean with my injury or my clothes?” Aziraphale gave him a coy smile that touched his eyes.

Crowley felt his own mouth quirking into a grin. He eased forward and knelt before him again. “I should’ve realized you had a sharp tongue.” 

“Perhaps, I wanted to ascertain the features of yours as well.”

Crowley coughed and couldn’t help glancing up at him. His mind swam with a warm haze as though he had been starving for Aziraphale’s attention and never realized it. He had no idea that the prim, bookish man could be so intriguing. Crowley raked his eyes away from those deep pools of blue and eased away his shoe. His hands froze as his brain registered the next part of the task. He licked his lips. “Do you need help with…” the rest stuck in his throat.

Aziraphale kept his sly smile as he worked at the buttons along the bottom side of his silk breeches. Crowley sat unmoving with his hands pressed into his lap. He didn’t trust to move them, not while he watched Aziraphale free each brass button and pinch at the edges of the silk stocking with his fingertips, dragging it lower bit by bit. 

“Would you mind?” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him. 

Crowley noted that he appeared more frustrated with the slowness of the process. And he did happen to be at the right angle for easing down the fabric without much effort. However, the idea of doing that threatened to short circuit his brain. 

Aziraphale winced as he flexed his toes.

That did it. Crowley’s mind reemerged from the depths of somewhere in his mind. “Course, angel. Try to relax.”

“I’m in your care, my dear.”

Fuck. Maybe Aziraphale had absolutely no idea what he did to him. Crowley wasn’t even sure himself for that matter. What did the kids call it these days? Whipped? He rolled his eyes, then focused on his task. 

He eased the stocking down, tugging it free from beneath the tan breeches, then his mouth fell open. The top of the thin fabric was decorated in an elegant, intricate lace. Crowley’s mind happily supplied him with an onslaught of images of Aziraphale wearing the thigh-high lace stockings…and nothing else. He stared at Aziraphale and had a minor worry that he had smoke coming from his ears.

“Oh, yes, um,” Aziraphale plucked the fabric from Crowley’s hand. “Well, I just adore the feeling of softer materials, but they tend to have a more delicate touch to them as it were.” 

“You wear this…often?” Crowley realized somewhere in the back of his mind that words were spilling from his mouth without his brain filtration first. That was probably a bad thing. 

Aziraphale tightened his grip on the stocking. “I, well, it’s…”

Crowley blinked, noticing the hitch in his words and the slight tint to his cheeks. “Because I think that is the single most sexiest thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life”—his brain gave a red alert—“if I can say that in a professional manner, of course.” He swallowed hard and realized his hands had started shaking.

Aziraphale snapped his gaze to him and blinked. “So, you don’t find it…odd?”

“Fuck, no.”

“I see.” He gave another coy smile. “Why thank you, my dear.”

Even if he did survive their encounter with the horseman, Crowley wasn’t sure he was going to survive the aftermath by any means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience! I hope you are enjoying this story as much as I am. All of your comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. I am a very shy person by nature so please forgive me if I don't respond often. Even online I get anxiety when chatting with people. But I really love your wonderful thoughts and comments. They really make my day!! <3 Thank you all so much!! You all are the best!!!! 
> 
> (*^▽^*)


	5. Getting into Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! I hope everyone has had a wonderful holiday! It's been a crazy couple of weeks here, but I have posted another SH GO update and I hope to get more updates out more quickly now that my holiday craziness is coming to an end. With the New Year approaching, I hope you all are contemplating your resolutions for the coming year. I have at least one so far, but not sure what other goals I want to set my sights on so far. I hope 2020 is ten times better than the last five years combined for everyone. Anyway, cheers and let's get ready to ring in the new year with more Good Omens fics!! XD

Anathema dabbed the herbal balm on the swollen ankle. Aziraphale winced at the touch, but the lines at the edge of his face had softened. The skin around the ankle appeared flushed, yet with none of the familiar sickly-yellow or purple of a bruise. Crowley had seen much worse, much more fatal injuries, but thankfully, neither of them had anything near the realm of life-threatening, despite the blade-wielding horseman slicing at their backs. It still gnawed at him, however. If he’d been injured, well, that was just part of the job. 

She worked, wrapping the ankle in gauze with a confident hand, and Aziraphale sighed, rolling his shoulders. Her apparent expertise made Crowley wonder if she’d ever helped the late doctor, or if they could convince her to take over the spot until they found a replacement. 

Anathema glanced between them as she worked with a haughty smile like they were a couple of guilty teenagers. Maybe having her in the village wasn’t the best of ideas if she had absurd notions about him. Even if, to be honest, Crowley did kind of feel like a floundering adolescent. It didn’t help that his partner continued sneaking glances at him in between the witch’s questions of ‘does that hurt?’ and ‘is that too tight?’. 

“So,” Crowley said with his arms crossed. He paced the room. He’d been mulling over their attack in his mind, trying to solve the hazy bits. “How much of a witch are you, exactly?”

She glanced back at him with a raised eyebrow. “Why do you ask? I don’t do Love potions if that’s what you mean. Not that you need one.”

Crowley stumbled over the flat surface and coughed, looking everywhere except at the couch. “I mean, do you have any experience in witchy symbols, runes, and such?” He pulled his phone from his pocket and tapped the screen. “Damn. Never mind.”

“What’s up?” Anathema stood and ambled over next to him, peeking down at the screen.

“It’s dead. Didn’t have a chance to charge it last night. Surprised it lasted this long.”

“Oh.” The witch spun and dashed off to the kitchen. “I have a charger. One sec!” 

Crowley heard a scrap of drawers pulled open and the tinkling of objects tossed about. He frowned, glancing around. “Do you _even_ have electricity out here?”

“Duh. It’s called solar power. The panels are outback. I also have a generator, but I hardly ever need it.”

Crowley paced back toward Aziraphale and eyed his leg. “Doing alright?”

“Oh, yes. Anathema is quite talented with herbs. I think the swelling is already going down, actually.” He leaned over and gently poked at the injured ankle. “Not too bad, thank heavens. I was rather worried about it when I first fell.”

“Yeah, me too.” He cleared his throat. “Also, I remember asking you if you knew any witches, and you failed to mention our little flamethrower spell-slinger in there.” Crowley gave him a mock reproachful stare before collapsing on the couch next to him.

“Oh, well. I thought you meant someone who would be more into devil worship or the sorts. I would hardly think Anathema would be up to anything like that.”

“Well, looks can be deceiving, angel.” 

“Quite right, my dear.”

Crowley hesitated as Aziraphale flicked a gaze at him. One obscured by pale golden lashes and dusted with intention. One that made Crowley wonder if joining him on the couch had been a good idea. 

Crowley peeled his eyes away. “Right, um. The whole, murderous headless thing. Witchy girl said she had told you some sort of theory.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Oh, yes. We spoke briefly after the first murder occurred. She believes the horseman is summoned, perhaps by a cultist, or a group of them. They could be perhaps witches or devil worshipers as you guessed, but she seems convinced the horseman is a supernatural entity and not a man at all.”

“Ridiculous. It’s an elaborate prop or something. You’d be surprised what they can do with money these days.” Crowley leaned against the thin-cushioned back. 

His gaze flicked back to his partner. He desperately needed to keep his mind fixed onto the case. If things continued as they were, then whatever was going on between them could be dangerous. He didn’t need any distractions, and distractions were the best way to make stupid mistakes. And get him killed. Crowley hated to say anything, especially if he was misreading things. Still, he worried more that they would end up in a similar situation with them unarmed against a homicidal murderer. He stood again and started pacing once more. 

Aziraphale watched him walk around the tiny room. He fidgeted with the hem of his sleeves.

Crowley slowed to a stop, realizing what he needed. His mind had formed the most obvious solution, apparently without any regard for the rest of him. His chest tightened as though steeling him for the discussion that had to come. Aziraphale wouldn’t like it, but Crowley had to cool down, and he had to speak with the forensics team sooner rather than later. If anything was going to help shed some light on the whole mess, it would be more information, scientific facts, and not some damn superstitions. 

Anathema reentered the room with the charger. “Here. It’s a spare, so if you need to borrow it for a while, it’s no problem. You can plug it in next to the couch.”

Crowley shoved the cord into his back pocket. “Thanks. But there’s a few things I need to take care of. Mind if I bring it back later?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Of course. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just realized I need to get back to the doc’s place soon. Can you take Aziraphale back to the manor, once you think he’s rested enough?”

Aziraphale shot up from the couch, winced, then leaned heavily on his uninjured leg. “What are you saying? I’ll be fine, momentarily. I just…can’t go off galivanting after criminals is all. I’ll be fine, really, dear.”

Crowley shoved down the part of himself that didn’t care for procedure or policy. The truth remained that Aziraphale had been injured under his watch and still had the title of a civilian. Not to mention, the case was not some petty theft or neighbor discrepancy. It was a double homicide that leaned toward serial killer, who was intending to up their numbers if their previous attack was any indication. He also couldn’t ignore the fact that the perp did not act like anything he’d encountered in his years on the force. Crowley couldn’t determine or even guess his motives, possible allies, and even his base was a big gnarled tree in the middle of the forest surrounded by dead animals. 

What he needed, more than anything, was his years of instincts and his ability to focus. Apparently, his moment of silence hung heavy enough that Anathema could sense it.

She licked her lips, then edged toward the door. “I think I’ll go check on my horse. Agnes can be a bit stubborn to ride if she isn’t brushed properly.”

The door slammed closed behind her, and Crowley glanced at Aziraphale. His partner held his hands at his sides and seemed to be desperately trying to not let his mild aches crack through his features. 

Crowley sighed and stepped forward. “Look, I know what I said. But, this case already has one officer and another civilian dead. If I’m being honest, I’m not sure I can keep you safe. There are other cases after this one we can work together, but I should’ve realized sooner that this was too much.” He bit his lip, knowing he’d have to deal with the consequences of his words. But, he hoped they wouldn’t be lasting. “I can’t afford distractions right now.”

Aziraphale flinched as though Crowley had struck him. He had not been expecting that. Aziraphale’s hands clenched into fists before he resumed sitting on the couch. “Of course. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

“Angel, I—”

Aziraphale held up a hand. “Don’t. Please don’t. Just do whatever it is that you need to do.” He sighed, bringing his hands to curl in his lap. “I understand.”

Crowley trudged from the room before his mouth betrayed him. He didn’t know what he would say, probably give in and get them both killed in the end, or he would break all sorts of rules and kneel before him again and press his mouth against those lips. He’d give almost anything to find out if they were as soft as they appeared. But, that was not what either of them needed, not with the case nowhere near solved. 

He closed the door behind him and blinked up into the afternoon light. Birds chirped, flitting through the trees above him. 

“Everything okay?” Anathema walked over to him from the side of the house. 

Crowley swallowed down the truth, which was something along the lines of ‘well, I left my heart bleeding inside your house, I hope you don’t mind.’ Instead, he rubbed at the back of his neck and huffed out a sigh. “As much as I can be, I suppose.”

“It’ll work out. Try not to worry.”

He faced her. His eyebrows rose as he let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, really? You know this without a doubt?”

She nodded with that same infuriating and knowing smile. 

“And why’s that? Some witchy premonition? Or something you saw in the stars?”

She placed a careful hand on his shoulder. “Because Aziraphale and I grew up together. Most of us here did, and I know for a fact that I’ve never seen him look at someone the way he looks at you.”

Crowley blushed before he could turn away. He rolled his shoulders, trying to pry out any last remnants of distraction that had wormed its way into his spine. “Guess that means I need to get to work before there’s no one in town left.”

Anathema smiled, then pressed two small bottles into his hand. “Take these. Hopefully, you won’t need them, but I’d rather you have them, then not have them and need them.”

He glanced at the containers of herbs that were somehow horseman repellant. “Thanks. You have some left for you, though, right?”

“I’ve got three more bottles. I was planning on giving two to Aziraphale also. He can be pretty stubborn sometimes.”

Crowley found himself smiling. “Yeah, I can see that.” He pocketed the bottles and stalked off into the trees. 

Part of him wanted to flee back to his hotel room. He needed to think, and it usually helped to yell at Dennis. Or, more likely, he needed to tell the plant he could understand the previous fraternization. It was hard to be mad at Dennis when he’d done the same thing. But that would come later. He couldn’t risk Dennis getting soft on him. 

Crowley trudged through the underbrush and found the clearing after what was, in fact, not getting lost at all; he’d just decided to take the scenic route. 

His stomach rumbled as the village came into sight. He knew he needed to eat, but the idea of it didn’t sit well with him. Aziraphale kept floating to mind in the form of worries and a bit of anxious lip chewing. Crowley was not about to explain to anyone why he appeared to have more nervous ticks than an over-wound clock. But it should’ve been easier by then, he had hoped. It should’ve been easier to shove aside his worries and fears regarding his partner. It should’ve been easier to keep him safe and away from the chaos and the lingering brush of death. And it should’ve been easier to not ache with the guilt of knowing that he had done the right thing to protect him. Of course, he’d done the right thing. Why wouldn’t keeping him away be the right thing? The question answered itself. There wasn’t any room for doubt. 

Crowley kicked at a rock in the road. He couldn’t remember the last time his head had buzzed so much. The main thoroughfare lacked the hustle and bustle that Crowley had imagined from the tiny town. He supposed most of that would come from customers eager to experience old village life, yet he’d also guessed the people that actually lived there would’ve been outside doing something with the sun at its peak. 

His face resumed its usual scowl, well usual for pre-Aziraphale life. The idea of that only deepened his features further into a grimace. He didn’t think so much had changed in just a few days, and yet, somehow, perhaps it had.

A pair of unmarked white vans stood out in front of the doc’s office. Crowley recognized the clean suits and the equipment handed off near the body. He spied the post-forensic crew waiting their turn once every conceivable sample had been collected. 

_They’re taking the body back to Bedford,_ he guessed. It made sense. With Dr. Sable, the only one in town to perform the autopsy, that didn’t leave anyone else qualified to take over as far as he knew. The witch girl could probably help with minor medical needs, but he doubted she had experience with corpses. 

He spotted the guard pair he’d left earlier in the day. 

Shadwell and Newton stood near the fence, continuing to keep an eye on the situation as best they could. The older man appeared to be scolding one of the techs as he shook his finger at him. Newton, despite his tall and lanky stature, appeared to be contemplating if he could sink back into the stone fence without anyone realizing he was gone. 

“Hey,” Crowley called, stalking over to them.

The three men glanced at him, and Crowley nodded at the confused tech, letting them get to work. He needed that report yesterday, so-to-speak. He gave his somewhat semblance of a team what he hoped was a pleased smile. “Good job, men. Now I know you’ve both been working very hard, so go take lunch and meet back here in an hour.”

“Aye, thanks, laddie. I’ve been keeping a sharp eye on this suspicious lot. You may want to question ’em some more. I think they’re up to no good if you ask me.” 

Crowley nodded and gave him a makeshift salute. 

Shadwell puffed out his chest and returned the gesture before strutting off down the road like some prized rooster showing off his colorful plumage. 

Crowley eyed the young man, who shifted uncomfortably. He seemed to want to say something, but it was as though it physically pained him to release the words from behind his clamped jaw. 

“Sir,” he squeaked. 

Crowley motioned for him to continue. 

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to stay here, then later, give my report once the team is done. I may have found something while we were standing here that could help you with your case.” He passed over a slightly crumpled and dirt-smeared folded sheet of paper. “I found it stuck in the bushes near the fence. I, um, I only glanced at it, but it seems to have been something for Ms. Scarlett.”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. He unfolded the paper, noting its cold white hue and the contradicting dark inked print. It was the standard type of paper used in an office setting without the flowing script he’d associated with a Living History Museum. 

Despite the smudges of dirt, he could make out most of the writing. It was a lab result that had been shipped off and mailed back to Dr. Sable, who probably had it on his person at the time of death. He glanced over the wording. It was…

Crowley stared. He reread the words over once more, then eyed Newton. “Did you tell anyone else about this?”

Newton shook his head.

“Right.” He folded the paper back up and tucked it into his back pocket. “Let me tell the guys here where to find my office. And you,” he pointed at the wide-eyed Newt. “You are coming with me.” 

After Crowley had a small chat with the lead tech, he and Newton hurried back to the jailhouse, or the Sheriff’s office with ancient holding cells, which he doubted would actually hold anybody. Crowley shuddered, wishing he could modernize it with more than just a computer. Still, he doubted Mayor Too-Good-To-Visit-Their-Town’s-New-Officer would accept anything above the bare minimum to keep with appearances. He’d ask anyway when he finally met the man; however, he knew the odds were not in his favor, especially if Aziraphale was still upset with him. 

Crowley groaned and stopped before they reached the tiny building. A gray spotted mare had been hitched to a post outside of his office. The horse gave him a lazy glance before shaking its mane. Somehow, Crowley knew precisely who the animal belonged to without having to ask. 

Newton stepped forward and gave the beast an awkward pat on the neck. “Agnes. What are you doing here, old girl?” 

Crowley rubbed at the back of his neck. “Should’ve known. Should’ve bloody well known.” His words didn’t have any heat to them, and any frustration he felt, he knew was at his own skewed expectations. 

The front door was already unlocked. Crowley wasn’t surprised. 

They stepped inside and found Aziraphale sat primly in the worn leather chair at the center of the room. Anathema stood, leaning against his desk, rifling through the paperwork from a file, undoubtedly the one from the previous murder. 

Aziraphale flicked his gaze at them with regard cold enough to chill the air around them. Crowley knew he had some apologizing to do for sure, but he knew work took priority in the matter, whether he really wanted it to or not. 

Crowley folded his arms. “Don’t recall giving civilians permission to go through case files.”

Anathema glanced up, then smiled past Crowley. “Good to see you again, Newt.”

The young man stepped forward with a bright-eyed smile Crowley had yet to see on him before. “Hello, Ms. Anathema. I-It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Her gaze shifted between Crowley and Aziraphale, then she set the folder on the desk. “Newt, sweetie. You know Agnes missed you so much. Why don’t we go say hi?” Anathema took Newton by the arm and led him toward the door. He complied without arguing, and they left them with nothing but a smothering silence between them. 

Crowley ambled over and picked up the file, leafing through the pages. He could feel the heat from Aziraphale’s gaze on his back. “Why’d you bring a civilian here?” Crowley dared a glance at his partner.

“Why did you?” 

Crowley huffed out a breath. “I’m the officer here, so if I want to bring someone here, I can if I damn well please.” He expected to see Aziraphale glaring daggers at him. However, his stomach dropped as Aziraphale lowered his gaze. His regal posture had sunk down in defeat. Any of his indignations had deflated out of him, leaving him appearing more vulnerable than Crowley had ever wanted to see him. 

Crowley tossed the file down and stepped over to him. There was a myriad of things he wanted to say, though none of them were conducive to a work setting. He had to keep it professional or keep what he could that way. Crowley pulled the folded paper from his back pocket and held it out. “Newton found this near Dr. Sable’s body.” 

Aziraphale accepted the paper with a raised eyebrow. He unfolded the page and scanned its contents. “This is,” his gaze snapped back to Crowley. “Ms. Scarlett…she was with child!”

Crowley nodded at the heading on the paper. “The good doctor knew she was pregnant, just found out last week actually.” He pointed to the date of the test. “Take it you lot didn’t know anything about it?”

Aziraphale glanced at the lab result again before shaking his head. “No…I had no idea. This…could this be motive?”

Crowley nodded again. “Oh, yeah. Hate to say it, but I bet the father had something to do with it. You see it in the city sometimes. Guy gets around a lot, then some poor woman tells him she’s pregnant, and he doesn’t handle it well.”

“That’s …that’s so monstrous. How could someone,” he paused, clearing his throat. “Never mind speculation. But what I don’t understand is, why kill the doctor?”

Crowley took the paper back and placed it in the file. “Excellent question. And it’s that exact question which I intend to get answered at the party tonight, with any luck.” He hesitated, meeting Aziraphale’s eyes. 

He shifted in the chair, wringing his hands together. “I suppose you and your new partner will want to question the guests this evening. I can make the proper arrangements.”

Crowley leaned against the desk. He was minorly worried his legs wouldn’t keep him standing much longer. Aziraphale spoke with a calm, business air as though they were not standing there discussing their partnership, possibly both on and off the force. Maybe Crowley really had misread the situation. If Aziraphale was already okay with their relationship—business relationship—ending, then was Crowley seeing something there that wasn’t real? It wouldn’t be the first time he had hoped and found his dreamed smashed like waves along the rocky cliffs, finding himself ground down into nothing but sand over time.

Crowley licked his lips. “He’s…he’s not my partner. Don’t really go around looking for partners. Haven’t had one in a long time,” he swallowed down a lump, “until recently. I usually chase them away. Always did it on the force before. Guess now’s no different.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him, then tapped his fingers against the arm of the couch. “So, why do you chase them away?” Then, he eased to his feet, testing the weight on his injured ankle. 

Crowley shrugged, turning his gaze to the floor. “I had a few early on, but,” he paused, taking a deep breath. “After I lost the first one, I didn’t want one anymore, didn’t want to go through that again with anyone else. Couldn’t handle losing someone…not like that. Not when…” 

He didn’t like talking about before, about his early days on the force. He’d been in his mid-twenties when he’d first joined, so young and naive. So sure of himself and of his ability to protect those around him. It had been a normal day in summer. One that should’ve been associated with warm winds or skin that glowed from kisses in the sun. Instead, he and his partner had been called into a domestic dispute. Crowley shuddered. 

And after that day, his certainty had shattered with a sudden, unexpected fragility. A fragility not unlike from an antique, glass bauble that one would find in a grandmother’s home and had slipped from his fingers crashing before his feet. 

Crowley felt his muscles tense against the onslaught of memories, the darkest ones that forged his nightmares, shaping them to haunt him even after the haze of night had long since faded.

Aziraphale stepped closer. “You felt responsible.”

“He was _my_ responsibility!” Crowley regretted the rage searing his words. “We were partners. We had to look out for one another and I…I tried. I really, really did. If I could’ve gone in his place, I would, in a heartbeat.” He shook his head slowly. “I can’t do it. Not again.” 

“I’m so sorry, my dear.” He hesitated, then said, “You know it wasn’t your fault.” Aziraphale stepped closer, but Crowley flinched away.

“Don’t. Don’t…tell me those lies. I’ve heard them all already.” He shifted toward the door. “It’s easier this way.” He paused, eyeing the exit. “It’s just…it was…nice, you know. If I had to pick someone…” Crowley shook his head. He didn’t want to finish the words. Anymore and his heart would be squeezed into dust, irreparable, and carried away with the wind. 

Aziraphale placed a hand on his arm.

Crowley didn’t yank it free, but he didn’t meet his eyes; he couldn’t. 

“While I respect your decision, I must say that sounds rather lonely.” Aziraphale placed both hands on his arms then. The touch was gentle and not hard enough to make him stay there. He didn’t seem to want to force Crowley to acknowledge the truth if he wasn’t ready. Aziraphale glided his fingertips up along his arm and grazed his chin. “And, it seems to me that you could use someone on your side. A friend, at least. If you’ll let me, my dear.”

Crowley raised his head, finding the strength to meet those shimmering blue eyes. “I can’t. I can’t lose anyone else.”

He smiled and caressed his cheek. “You must have faith, my dear.”

“I can’t, angel.”

“Then, please, have faith in me. I can be strong enough for us both.” Aziraphale leaned forward, and his breath danced against his skin. “Crowley, may I kiss you?”

Crowley swallowed, trying to think through the haze clouding his mind. “Eh, yeah, course, but…”

Aziraphale gave his arm a small, comforting squeeze. 

“I need to focus on this case. If you…if you kiss me now, I’m not sure I’ll ever want you to stop.”

Aziraphale rested his forehead against him. “So, well in some cultures, friends _can_ kiss cheeks or eyelids as a greeting or departure. Perhaps, if as long as I don’t kiss your lips, you could still focus?” 

“Oh, uh, sure.” Crowley shifted, letting his eyes drift down to Aziraphale’s parted lips. His mind had hazed over, drunk on the intoxicating scent that was Aziraphale. It reminded him of old books and sweet wine. It made him think of warm blankets on winter nights, curled up in front of a roaring fire. The scent and the heat of his skin warmed the places in Crowley’s heart he’d deemed dead long ago, chalking them up to lost and forgotten. Places he doubted anyone would want to revive.

Aziraphale leaned up, brushing his lips along Crowley’s cheek. He kissed his jaw. He kissed the corners of his mouth. He kissed him with the tenderness Crowley had never experienced before. Crowley had hook-ups before. Something quick and hot enough to fizzle out by morning. But this was new.

Every nerve-ending in Crowley’s body tingled like a live wire. His mind begged to feel those lips against his own. Just one-millimeter closer. Aziraphale was so near, and yet miles away. He could almost taste him; what he would do for that sensation against his lips. 

Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale. Even with all the layers, he could feel the warmth of Aziraphale against his skin. “I think we miscalculated…because I have no idea how I am supposed to focus after that?” But he did feel a small smile quirk at the corners of his mouth. 

Aziraphale tilted back, meeting his eyes. “I would love to continue this, my dear, just as soon as we solve this case.”

“We?” Crowley blushed, staring into those adoring eyes.

“If you’ll have me, my dear?”

Crowley couldn’t handle it. He leaned forward and nuzzled against Aziraphale’s neck. His mouth ghosted against his skin. “Are lips the only thing off-limits?” he breathed against him. 

To his delight, Aziraphale let out a gasp, and his hands wound around his waist. His fingers tugged at Crowley’s shirt. “Oh, my dearest.”

Crowley pulled him closer, then shifted himself up to sit on his desk. His hands snaked under Aziraphale’s coat, and he paused. His mouth was still on his skin when he let out a small chuckle. “Is that a dagger under there, or are you just happy to see me?”

“This was supposed to _help_ your focus, not impair it further.” But he didn’t stop them. Aziraphale’s hands glided over Crowley’s shirt, pressing into the angles and lean line of his muscles. 

“Angel,” he growled and leaned up, nibbling on his earlobe. “Let me kiss you. Let me taste you.”

“I can’t really deny you anything, can I?” Aziraphale tilted his head, leaning in.

And the door opened, revealing a tall man in a pristine pale gray suit. His attire was not as intricate as Aziraphale’s, but a touch more modern than would have probably been for the era. His dark hair was immaculate without a hair out of place, and he held a smile that did not meet his eyes. 

Aziraphale tightened his grip on Crowley’s hips as he sucked in a breath. “Oh, hello Gabriel.”


	6. The Interrogation

Crowley had no idea what he’d done to piss off the Almighty or whatever powers at be. He hoped that work as an honest civil servant would’ve been enough to curb some good fortune in his favor; he was, in fact, mistaken as the universe seemed quite compelled to drown him in a tidal wave of unrelenting, horrendous luck. 

Crowley flung his hands away from Aziraphale, which had most definitely not been tugging up at the edges of his silk shirt. In his haste, he tried to wiggle free but ended up clinging to the desk and trying not to pitch forward further into Aziraphale’s arms. There were few times in his career that he had been caught, figuratively, with his pants down. Though, he suspected within a few more minutes that could’ve been a bit more literal. 

Gabriel’s smile didn’t lessen or change, despite the situation. In fact, his smirk beamed brighter like a shark homing in on the scent of blood in the water. Or, in their case, the hint of scandal in the air; perhaps, some tidbit that could be used as pressure or leverage. 

The mayor’s eyes glinted as he strolled deeper into the room, stopping halfway to the desk. He wore a dove gray jacket with embroidered cuffs on the sleeves and pockets. The stitched rose pattern extended to the eggshell-white waistcoat and down the side of the contrasting dark blue breeches. Even his shoes appeared to have a slight rose design painted along the edge. Overall, Crowley suspected the silk outfit alone was worth more than his yearly salary, and he also guessed the mayor had a similar matching outfit for each day of the week, not including special occasions. Crowley doubted being mayor of the tiny town equated to such a salary. His profiler instinct could smell more underneath the surface, but he would have to wait to find out. And, the more logical part of his mind hoped he hadn’t just handed over his head on a silver platter to the man. He grimaced. 

Aziraphale released his grip on Crowley’s waist and straightened with only a minor wince. “We weren’t expecting to see you until this evening, dear brother. What brings you all the way to this part of town?”

Crowley shuffled down from his seat on the desk and stood beside Aziraphale. 

Gabriel’s smile widened at the question. Both parties understood the game they played. The polite duel among siblings that usually always ended in utter embarrassment or humiliation. Crowley’s years of profiling turned the gears in his mind, analyzing the man before him: clean-cut, penetrating eyes, even his posture suggested no hint of surprise; obviously a type with an insatiable itch to remind those around him of his title, his power. 

Gabriel gave the room a once over. He sniffed, crinkling his nose, as though the walls had been graffitied with obscenities, which he’d rather ignore away as it would be beneath him to point out. He cleared his throat. “I just thought I’d dropped by and see how our new sergeant is doing. Unless, of course, that is against the law now?” He gave a small chuckle that Crowley didn’t reciprocate, but still continued on, “As I doubt I need an invitation, perhaps,  _ dear brother _ , you could get your nose out of your books long enough to realize that this is the real world, and not one of your made-up…fantasies.” His gaze finally shifted to Crowley. “My apologies for my sibling’s familiarity. He likes to pretend he’s one of those detectives from his bedtime stories.”

Aziraphale tensed, squeezing his clasped hands behind his back. His mouth opened, then closed once again. And for a moment, Crowley thought he would bite back. He knew Aziraphale was clever, clever enough to out-maneuver this man by leaps and bounds if he so desired. But to do so would bring about ramifications, and some, he knew, would affect more than just Aziraphale. He appeared to realize this, as well. So, as Gabriel continued to ignore his stares, Aziraphale’s shoulders slouched, and he simply stepped aside, resuming his seat on the worn leather chair. 

Crowley, despite if Aziraphale wasn’t willing to bite back, would see that someone would. He stepped forward. “Fantasies or not, I must say, I’m glad your brother has been inspired by those books. Would’ve been lost today if it wasn’t for his help. He was so impressive, in fact,” he couldn’t help the smile that tumbled over his lips, “that I’ve offered him a full-time position on the force.”

Gabriel’s smirk faltered for the first time, so Crowley pressed on. “I’m sure we can make him a full cadet within a year. You were really lucky he offered to assist when he did actually; otherwise, you’d be headhunting for a new sergeant already, and that’d be a real shame.” He forced out a bitter laugh, keeping his eyes locked with Gabriel. It was a risky move, but Crowley already knew the stakes. He already knew that he was damned, and he would be more-so if he left Aziraphale alone against his brutish brother. So, Crowley did what he did best: throw out casual insults disguised with thin politeness until his tongue got the better of him. 

Apparently, he hadn’t tried too hard yet as Gabriel cleared his throat without a trace of malice. “Ah, well, good. At least I can put a face with a name now.” Gabriel shook his hand once with a single light grip, then re-laced his hands behind his back in a similar manner Crowley had seen before, definitely family. 

Crowley decided to steer the conversation in a more professional direction for the time being. “You should know we had an unfortunate run-in with the perp this morning. We were able to gather more information for the investigation. But, Aziraphale was injured during the encounter, though nothing life-threatening, thankfully.”

Gabriel met his eyes, still showing off his perfectly white teeth. “Well, it’s a good thing you were there, then. We’re glad to have you back in one piece.” He laughed and slapped a hand over Crowley’s shoulder like they were two old pals catching up.

Crowley bit his tongue to hold back any snide comments and settled for a nod, which seemed to placate the mayor. 

“Well, at least things seem to be under control here.” Gabriel slipped a hand into the embroidered pocket of his jacket and produced a thick parchment sealed with a blue wax stamp. “I hope you will attend our little gathering tonight at the manor. It’s just a little something we do every year, and, as sergeant, it would be great for you to make an appearance to our sponsors. Starts at seven. Don’t be late.” He tossed the invitation onto the desk and spun for the door. “Oh, and Aziraphale,” he snapped, “make sure our guest has appropriate attire this evening. We do have a standard to maintain, brother.” His gaze flicked back to them before he headed out the door, leaving them in a smothering silence. 

“Well, that was a thing.” Crowley’s mouth twisted into a frown. He turned back to Aziraphale. “I can’t see how you stand him. Actually, after meeting him, I can’t see how you haven’t murdered him in his sleep yet. I mean, really, it’d be an act of community service. You’d get a medal for it, I’m sure.” Crowley placed a hand on his shoulder.

Aziraphale seemed to snap back to himself. “Oh, yes. Sorry, what was that?”

“Nothing, angel. Just don’t let him get to you.” Crowley squeezed his shoulder once before turning back to his desk. He eyed the invitation but didn’t open it. He had higher priorities than Gabriel’s damn party to think on. “Okay, now let’s get the—” The words died on his tongue. 

Aziraphale sat gazing at the floor. His golden lashes failed to hide the shimmer along the rim of his eyes.

Crowley surged forward without thought. He wrapped his arms around him and pulled him close. Mountains would crumble, seas would dry up, and the world would burn before he would let Aziraphale have that expression ever again if he had his way. “I mean it. Don’t listen to him. You are better— _ the best _ person I know. Don’t let him get to you, angel. Don’t let him break you.”

Aziraphale felt tense under his arms.

“Whatever you need, Aziraphale. Please, just know I’m here. You don’t have to be alone unless you want. I mean, well…” He wasn’t entirely sure even he knew what he meant. All Crowley knew was that he would give him his own heart before seeing Aziraphale in such a dejected state again. 

“Oh, my apologies, my dear.” Aziraphale patted his arm. “I was lost in thought for a moment. No need to fret. Everything is tickety-boo.”

Crowley leveled his gaze at him. “If you think I’m going to believe that, you must think I’m an utter moron.”

“Oh, come now. I would never say such a thing. You may have, but I would never.”

The corner of Crowley’s mouth quirked up. “There’s my glorious bastard of an angel.”

Aziraphale blinked at him, then rested his hand against Crowley’s cheek. “You may be more right about that than even I realized.” His thumb rubbed against Crowley’s jawline. He seemed to look behind Crowley’s eyes as though he could see the soul beneath. It made him shiver and feel laid bare beneath the intensity lingering there. He couldn’t remember anyone ever looking at him like that like they wanted to see him for who he really was and didn’t recoil.

Crowley felt the heat rise in his cheeks. He wanted to snap his gaze away or brush off Aziraphale’s hand; not because he didn’t like the feeling of his soft fingers trailing along the curve of his jaw, but more because he felt swallowed whole within the tingling electricity from his touch. He was drowning. He was drowning in the shimmering pale-blue eyes and reveled in every moment of it. Crowley realized he wanted to drift away, to let the feeling consume him and heal the dark spots in his heart. 

He raised his own hand and covered Aziraphale’s fingertips. “I wasn’t lying before. I really would like for you to work with me if you want. You don’t have to answer now.” 

Aziraphale slid his other hand up through Crowley’s hair. “I thought you had said I would be too distracting.”

Crowley shivered under the touch and closed his eyes. “That…still seems to be a possibility, but,” he risked leaning into the sensation of the fingernails scraping along his scalp. “Maybe it just means we should clear the air, as it were.” He coughed, rolling his shoulders. Was it getting warmer? Maybe he needed to turn on the air conditioner. Oh, right. Living History Museum meant no A/C.  _ Damn. _

The fingers in his hair halted before roaming back behind his head. “Clear the air? I’ve never heard someone refer to sex as such before.” 

Crowley sputtered, snapping out of the trance of those thick fingers. “ _ Wot! _ W-what?” He stared at Aziraphale. His mouth gaped open as he floundered to regain his ability to speak again. 

“Is that  _ not  _ what you meant?” Aziraphale raised his eyebrow and pointedly eyed his fingers in the auburn hair and the ones cupping his cheek. Then, his gaze traveled lower to the embarrassing hard press in Crowley’s pants. “Then, what did you mean, pray tell?”

“Ah, well. I mean. I just…” Crowley paused, realizing he wasn’t exactly sure what he had meant. “Maybe, we could just go over expectations, as it were.” Aziraphale raised his eyebrow. Crowley stammered, “L-like with the job and, then…eh, not the job.”

Aziraphale nodded in comprehension and removed his hands, lacing his fingers behind his back. “Very well. Let’s begin with job expectations. Anywhere, in particular, I should begin?”

Crowley rubbed his chin in thought, then snapped his fingers. “Interrogation. How do you feel about interrogating someone?”

Aziraphale gave him a lazy smile as though to say, ‘really dear.’ “Do you intend to let me interrogate someone?”

Crowley rolled his shoulders in a vague shrug. “Depends. Try me. Get me to spill some hellish secret I normally wouldn’t.” He winked, leaning back and rested his palms against the desk. 

Aziraphale sighed and adjusted his silk jacket. “Very well. Let us begin, Mr. Crowley.” He stepped forward, giving Crowley a stare harder than anything he’d ever seen on him before. 

Crowley blinked.

Aziraphale leaned into his space. “Where were you at daybreak this morning, Mr. Crowley?”

Crowley had been on the receiving end of interrogation before, especially greenhorns who had no idea what they were doing. Some would oversell the aggression, and then there were some that couldn’t intimidate a fly. This was neither. 

Aziraphale’s gaze pierced through him. The subtle shifts in his features, along with his stance, radiated an aura of authority. Crowley had not been expecting that. He also had not been expecting what it would do to him south of his waistband. His mouth dried, and he had to stifle a gasp that tried to claw its way from his throat. “I, uh…” He coughed, regaining some of his composure. “Kind of ambiguous, isn’t it? I mean daybreak could be—”

“I find it hard to believe that such a disciplined sergeant, like yourself, is not meticulous in the details. Six-thirty-seven was sunrise if you must know.” He leaned passed him, removing a pen from the desk. 

Crowley couldn’t help himself. As soon as Aziraphale closed the distance, Crowley tilted his head into the scent of lavender and parchment that clung to his skin. He wanted to pepper that skin with kisses again. His lips itched to taste him, making his brain hazy with rather desirable thoughts he couldn’t quite will away.

Aziraphale raised his eyebrow. “Do you think this is some kind of game to me?”

Crowley shivered, even though, no, he did not think it was some kind of game, and in fact, took his job very seriously as well as Aziraphale’s. He hated his hormone-addled brain. “No, please. I’m sorry.” He twitched, trying to ignore the strain in his pants. “I’m not usually like this if you’ll believe it.”

Aziraphale appeared to be calculating something internally, then nodded to himself. “You think I am soft.”

Crowley’s mouth fell open. “I do not! Why do you think—”

Aziraphale snapped the pen at him, pointing it like a sword at his throat. “I care about these people, Sergeant Crowley. I make it my business to care about their well-being, whether or not they are comfortable here, and what best ways I can keep our town from disappearing into dust. Do not confuse my kindness for naivety.” 

“Never,” Crowley breathed, staring into his eyes. He’d suspected Aziraphale had had a harder life here than most would think. He had told him so before in the carriage when his profiling ability had come up. It was one of the few times he hated being right.

A ghost of a smile crossed Aziraphale’s lips. “I suspected as much, my dear.” He lowered the pen, setting it on the desk again. “So, then, please tell me what you were doing this morning, or,” he leaned in closer, cupping Crowley’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, “should I guess?”

Crowley swallowed, not leaning away from the touch. “Eh, uh. This isn’t really an interrogation technique I’ve seen before.”

Aziraphale hummed in agreement. “Perhaps, but I believe it is true that different techniques work better for different individuals. For example,” he pressed closer, sliding his knee between Crowley’s legs. He rubbed his thigh against the tight bulge in Crowley’s pants, tempting a gasp from his lips, “perhaps a softer approach would entice you to, how did you put it,  _ spill  _ your secrets, my dear?”

Crowley groaned, leaning into the touch. He hadn’t realized until then just how long it had been since he’d been lavished with such attention. He couldn’t remember exactly how long a lover had caressed him with such tenderness and intent. Aziraphale thumb trailed up and rubbed across his bottom lip. “Tell me, my dear. Let me tempt you.” His free hand glided over, palming over his throbbing cock in his jeans. 

Crowley whined at the friction, desperately wanting more. His half-lidded eyes fell on Aziraphale, and he blinked. The bastard was smirking. He thought he could make Crowley spill his deepest, darkest secrets just from a bit of teasing, well then he had another thing coming. Or, well, at least, Crowley would make him work harder for it. 

He leaned his head back and licked his lips. Crowley stifled his breathing from breathy gasps to a more moderate breathing level. “That’s …that’s the best you’ve got?”

Aziraphale gave him a bemused smile. “My dear, it’s an interrogation. I’m just getting started.” He palmed against Crowley with a bit more delicious force, enticing a small moan from his lips. 

“What? What was the question?” Crowley closed his eyes, both trying to focus and not focus on what Aziraphale was doing to him. He realized he could hear his pulse beating in his ears as heat pooled deep in his belly.

Aziraphale hummed, then leaned, resting his cheek against the side of Crowley’s face. “Well, I was going to work up to the harder questions, but I think I may be able to skip most of the preamble, don’t you think?” His hand halted its exploration of the front of his jeans. 

Crowley snapped his eyes open and glanced down as the button on his jeans was flipped open. Aziraphale dragged down the zipper next, letting the sound purr out between them. The thought crossed Crowley’s mind to tell him that he didn’t have to do any of this. Then question why he was doing said definitely not unwelcome acts and finally, make sure he knew if this were a real interrogation that this was not anywhere near standard procedure. He also wondered what kind of detective novels Aziraphale had been reading to insight such solicitous behavior. 

“You know you don’t have to—”

Aziraphale placed a light kiss on his cheek. The sensation tingled across Crowley’s skin, sending an odd fluttering in his chest. “Do you really think I would do anything I didn’t wish to do?” He peppered a few more kisses along Crowley’s jaw, lulling his eyes closed once again. “Besides, isn’t it I who should be asking you if my interrogation techniques are unwelcome?”

Crowley let out a breathy gasp. “As long as you don’t use this method in any actual interrogations, I…don’t mind. Makes me  _ really _ look forward to your quarterly performance review.” He licked his lips, then rested his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

Aziraphale chuckled, and his hand slipped beneath the waistband of Crowley’s pants. His fingers brushed against Crowley’s hard length of velvety skin, skimming down to rub at the tip already damp with precum. 

Crowley’s own hand snapped up to Aziraphale’s arm, steadying himself against his partner’s body. He sucked in a breath between his teeth, and Aziraphale stroked him gently at first, letting his fingers glide up and down the length of him. 

“Care to spill your secrets, my dear?”

Crowley could hear the amusement in his tone. It made him smile and shiver as the hand stroking him shifted, curling up slightly. He gasped, trying to focus on his words. “Ah…keep that up, and I’ll spill more than just secrets, angel.”

Aziraphale kissed at the corner of his lips. “Then, I hope you stay quiet a while longer. You seem to be enjoying yourself.” His free hand wound behind Crowley’s back, helping him stay upright as he all but collapsed against Aziraphale. 

“Oh,  _ god _ —yes. It’s …been too long.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale hummed, picking up his pace. He rubbed his thumb over the tip again, sliding the bit of slickness over Crowley’s skin. “How long has it been?”

“Fuck.” Crowley’s body trembled as he clung to Aziraphale. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting off the surge of heat building inside his body. It begged for release, to explode like a star, bathing every inch of his body in a shimmering light. “ _ Oh, fuck _ —maybe.  _ Shit! _ That feels good.”

Aziraphale dragged his tongue down Crowley’s neck, pausing to nip at his flushed skin along the way. “How long, exactly?”

Crowley groaned at the ache in his cock. He would not last long. “ _ Fuck, _ five—wait, no. Eight years.”

Aziraphale’s breath heated across Crowley’s skin. He sucked against his throat, possibly bruising him, but Crowley didn’t care. He might later, but right then, Aziraphale could’ve beat him over the head with a tire iron, and he probably wouldn’t have cared much.

“No wonder you’ve been so…distracted today. Far too long, in my opinion. Let me take care of you. Tell me if it’s too much.”

Crowley’s breath hitched in response. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had treated him with such care, or as something desirable, more than just a one-time fuck. 

“Any more secrets before our session concludes? Any past lovers I should worry about?” The words held a hint of laughter in them. Aziraphale didn’t expect a serious answer. He seemed more concerned with Crowley enjoying himself more than anything. It was rather confusing, actually.

“No,” Crowley gasped as the building heat grew, threatening to spill at any moment. “No one like that…never had time, no one to love.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, my dear.” Aziraphale leaned against him, kissing along his jaw. 

“Don’t be. Never felt it till now.” Crowley’s eyes snapped open, realizing the words that had slipped out of him. His breath hitched as his body couldn’t contain his pleasure anymore. He groaned, and Aziraphale let him release, catching most of it in his palm and along his fingers. Crowley breathed out. His mind hazed in the aftermath of his delightfully unexpected orgasm. 

Aziraphale had released him and had pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket. Crowley blinked as he watched Aziraphale lick his fingers. It was irresistibly erotic and would’ve made Crowley hard again if he could’ve in such a short amount of time. He wiped the remaining stickiness from his hand and returned the cloth to his pocket. Aziraphale gave Crowley a soft smile but didn’t say anything.

Crowley opened his mouth, and the door to the office bust open once again. He yelped, whirling around with his back to the door, frantically shoving his soft cock back inside his pants and trying to zip the closed without catching skin in the process. 

Aziraphale laced his fingers behind his back, facing the door as though nothing had happened. “Oh, hello dear.” His face remained pleasant, but his eyes crinkled with a little more mirth than before. 

Crowley glanced back once he was presentable again and spied Anathema, smirking like a cat before a mouse, and Newt perhaps blushing more than Crowley if it were possible. 

“So,” she began, “Did we miss anything?”

Aziraphale let out a small chuckle. “Oh, nothing important. My brother stopped by, you may have seen him outside, and decided to invite our new sergeant to tonight’s festivities.”

Anathema raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

“And, it seems I will be joining the police force after all. I was just practicing my interrogation techniques as it were.”

She snorted and glanced at Crowley. “Is that so? How’d he do?”

Crowley could, in fact, blush even more than he thought. “Oh, well. Great! A plus and all that.” He covered his mouth and coughed, trying to hide the gravelly edge to his voice. 

Anathema winked at him, then straightened her skirts. “Well, while you two were ‘working it out,’ I got the cleanup crew to leave the body in Doc’s office overnight for the initial autopsy.”

That sobered Crowley up from his lust haze quite quickly. “You  _ wot _ ?”

“I’m having the body transferred tomorrow. So, we don’t have to wait for the lab report. No need to thank me.”

Crowley ground his teeth. “And who in the hell is going to do the autopsy, may I ask? Cause the last time I checked, the only one certified to do one of those was the guy on the slab in the first place!”

“Oh? Didn’t I tell you?” Anathema beamed at him, adjusted her spectacles on her nose. “I worked as an autopsy technician while I was finishing my medical degree. Dr. Sable used to have me help him if he ever needed an assistant.”

Crowley opened his mouth, then closed it again. He spun to Aziraphale in disbelief. And the smug bastard didn’t seem surprised in the slightest. “You know,” Crowley sighed, “could we please inform me of these things before they are relevant. I mean, really, just once it’d be nice to know what in the hell was going on.”

Aziraphale did at least have the decency to give him an apologetic shrug. 

“Fine, whatever. Do we have time to work before the party?”

Aziraphale nodded. “A few hours at least. We will need some time to get you prepared for tonight, however. Also, I’m quite sure you have yet to eat any lunch as of yet.” 

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Fine. Let’s go, witch girl. No painting weird symbols on the body or anything.”

Anathema folded her arms. “You really want to risk taking chances with that thing on the loose?”

Crowley narrowed his eyes at her but just sighed against her unyielding stare of defiance. “Fine, but you’d better explain to me what you’re doing  _ before _ you do it, got it?”

“Whatever.” She took Newt’s hand as they stepped out of the jailhouse.

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale. Worry had seeped into the corner of his mind. He’d been wondering what Aziraphale thought of his little slip up earlier.  _ Maybe, he didn’t notice. _ “Sorry about, ah, well, earlier,” he blushed. “What I meant…I mean, why don’t we just forget I said anything. We don’t have to let things get weird, no weirdness, just two people, eh partners…you know what, just ignore me. I'm being an utter moron again already. Shit…”

Aziraphale adjusted his sleeves and led them to the door. “I do not think you are a moron at all. And I do not know why in the heavens you insist on thinking so. But, perhaps, you are a bit dramatic.” Crowley scoffed at his sincerity. “But then again, I guess I wouldn’t be so  _ distracted _ if you were any less.”

Crowley stood in the doorway, staring as Aziraphale walked down the lane back to the tiny clinic.  _ Well, what the flying fuck did that mean? _ He couldn’t help but smirk at the flutter in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may end up changing the rating on this AU. I wasn't sure what to expect with how willing our boys would be in this setting, but apparently it's very, so fair warning there may be smut in the future chapters. ^_^; I hope everyone has had a great new year so far. Your comments have been shining stars in the darkness for me. Thank you. Thank you so much for your kindness and support. It is the world to me. <3


	7. No Rest for the Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has help from Anathema and Newt regarding the case, which leads to new evidence that comes to light. And, things heat up between Crowley and his new partner, Aziraphale, but will it all end how he imagined?

Aziraphale, Crowley, and Anathema stood staring at the corpse on the chilled metal slab. The white sheet did not seem like enough to shield them from its eerie stillness. Bodies were supposed to move, even a little; whether it was fidgeting, glancing, or simply breathing, there was no denying that bodies were constantly shifting, even a tiny bit. 

Crowley had seen his fair share of the dead over the years. It never settled well with him as some part of him couldn’t completely detach from his work. He wanted to assure the poor dead bloke that someone would miss him, someone cared enough to hope that whatever came afterward would be peaceful, but he had no idea of the doc’s life. Best to leave that train of thought.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Do you think we should begin, or perhaps, wait for Mr. Pulsifer first?”

Anathema strolled over to the stainless-steel instruments and glanced over them with a careful eye. “I think it’s better to get started. I’m pretty sure Newt volunteered to get lunch to avoid as much of this as possible.” She glided over to the sink and began to scrub her hands. “Actually, if you’d rather come back later, I can give you a full report before the party.”

Crowley wandered over to a large metal filing cabinet. “Might do that, but there was something I wanted to look into here first.” He tugged on the top handle. The door didn’t budge. “Damn, guess that was too much to hope for.” 

Aziraphale stepped up beside him, examining the door. “Hm. Crowley, would you be a dear and look over that desk for me?”

Crowley glanced back near the front of the room at the large metallic table. It wasn’t much more than a thin metal sheet with four legs. It didn’t even have a computer on it. “Eh, sure, angel.” He sauntered over, still wracking his brain as to what Aziraphale could’ve detected in the mundane piece of furniture. Crowley scratched his chin, analyzing the possibilities. He squatted down and felt underneath the desk. Nothing taped or stashed away beneath it. Nothing under the swivel chair either. It appeared as clean as would’ve been on par for a doctor, so no real fingerprints. No clues. Not even a damned smudge. 

A small pop sounded behind him, and he turned in time to see Aziraphale sliding open the filing cabinet drawer. “Oh, look at that. It was probably just a bit stuck. Simply needed a good tug. A good heave-ho.” He gave a small chuckle and slide something into his pocket. 

Crowley stared at him, then promptly collected his jaw off the floor and clicked his mouth shut. He gave Aziraphale a flat look before strolling back to the cabinet. His gaze flicked between the open drawer and Aziraphale, who’s hands were now clasped behind his back. 

Part of him wanted to congratulate the clever bastard, but the other part was citing the unlawful use of…well, what exactly? He hadn’t actually  _ seen _ Aziraphale do anything other than open the drawer, so he hadn’t technically seen any actual crime committed. It was a thin line of reasoning, and yet, it got them what they needed for the time being. It wasn’t like the doctor was going to complain about it. 

Crowley raised an eyebrow but gave in in the end. “Should I say thank you?”

Aziraphale worried at his lip before sighing. “Best not.”

The drawer held a handful of files, mostly patient info that ranged from minor ailments, such as colds, to one or two accidental broken bones. Crowley couldn’t see anything even close to malpractice or some reason that someone would hold a grudge against the man. He suspected the link still remained with the former sergeant’s hushed pregnancy, though he wouldn’t be doing his job if he didn’t comb through the evidence first. 

It would’ve been easy to accuse a lover, but something about all of this told him there was something more at play. Crowley couldn’t put his finger on it yet, but he did have a suspicion they were on the right path. 

The other drawers opened with ease but held miscellaneous tax receipts and a bit of correspondence between the doc and his colleagues back in London. Still, nothing that pointed to any link between himself and a scandal enough for murder. He did notice something else peculiar, however. 

“Angel, I don’t see any files on you or any other Fells here.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale nodded, more to himself. “I believe my dear brother keeps those locked in his study at the house. He can be a bit…cautious when it comes to relinquishing family concerns.”

Crowley bit his lip. He did not like this level of secrecy. It always led to skeletons in the closet, sometimes real ones. He did not feel any warm fuzzies about the case when every bit of new information seemed to be tied to the Fell family. Crowley hesitated but pushed down his regret before it could seep into his voice. “We need to take a look at those too.”

Aziraphale paused, catching his gaze.

Crowley knew Aziraphale was familiar with the procedure enough to understand his predicament. They had to be thorough. There couldn’t be room for error with the bodies piling up against them. However, if the evidence kept circling the Fell family like a flock of vultures, he would have to consider removing him from the case. No one wanted to arrest their own family, especially as a first case. But he still needed him as his partner in order to get as much information as he could before the family walled themselves behind a pack of ruthless lawyers.

“You’re right, my dear.” He huffed out a breath and straightened his stance. “Tonight. There will be a chance to look at them tonight.” Aziraphale gave Crowley a sideways glance. “Will there be a problem if, um, I need to unstick some of those doors as well?”

Crowley blanched, then closed his eyes and stuck his fingers in his ears. “Can’t hear you. No idea what you’re saying.” A pair of hands eased his fingers down, and he opened his eyes. Aziraphale held his gaze with a worry line creasing his brow.

Crowley huffed out a breath and glanced away before he lost his train of thought. “Look, we just need to cross it off the list. I doubt anyone in your family is a bloody psychopath just trying to off people.”

Crowley laced his hands around Aziraphale’s grip and gave a small squeeze. “And if you have to bully open a few doors, it’s not like it isn’t your house too.” He chuckled. “Suppose that means I won’t have to cuff you for it.”

Aziraphale tugged him closer. His worry lines had smoothed out, leaving a glint of mischief in his eyes. The sight left a smile spreading across Crowley’s lips. It felt right to see Aziraphale so playful and happy. The look suited him, almost as much as Crowley’s continual inclination to wear his sunglasses. He blinked as Aziraphale bit his lip, gazing at him from under heavy golden lashes. “Oh, my dear, only if it’s what you want.”

Crowley opened his mouth as Anathema cleared her throat from the other side of the room. “I’m still here, guys.”

Crowley dropped their hands and took a step back. He noticed Aziraphale’s cheeks had tinted pink, and he let out a small cough.

“I, uh,” Crowley floundered before glancing at the door. “I should probably go see if Newt needs any help. Probably a lot to carry back on his own.” He glanced at Aziraphale, who stood to stare at the window as though he expected it to spew the answers of the universe. Though, Crowley didn’t miss the way his lips curved into a small smile.

“Right,” Anathema called, rummaging through the utensils. “We’ll just be here. You know, doing real work.”

Crowley glared at her, but her words hadn’t held any real heat in them. He left the backroom, heading to the front office. His thoughts fluttered around him like butterflies in a garden, slipping through his fingers no matter how quickly he snatched for them. Aziraphale had turned his world upside down, inside out. Just like Alice plummeting down into Wonderland, Crowley had found himself falling in a way he didn’t entirely mind. It was a pleasant sort of falling as though he knew he would land on a bed of rose petals, or perhaps, the bitter part of his brain supplied, he would find himself crushed against an unforgiving slab of rock that would kill him instantly. Either way, he knew he couldn’t stop whatever outcome would be there waiting for him.

He yanked open the door and froze. Five pairs of eyes stared at him. And Crowley stared right back, not backing down. He had been around long enough to recognize the local gang when he saw one.

“You lot look like you’re up to no good.” He cracked a small, knowing smirk.

The taller boy smiled back. He had soft eyes that seemed to hold as much compassion as they did mischief. “We’re looking for a witch, actually. I’m Adam, by the way. This is Pepper, Brian, and Wensleydale. This is our town. Is Miss Anathema in there?”

Crowley folded his arms, leaning against the frame. “Yeah, but she’s working right now. She’s been nice enough to help with the case. Might try back later.”

The young girl in the group, Pepper, squinted at him. “Is she casting spells? She said she could cast a spell to keep the horseman away, but the stupid mayor said no. Can you believe him? Moron.”

“Well, not that I disagree with you, at all, but no, she’s helping out with the autopsy.”

“Are you the new officer?”

“‘Course he is,” answer a lanky boy next to her, Brian, Adam had said. “Heard mum talk about him to our neighbor. She said she likes his backside as much as his front.”

“Gross,” Pepper scrunched her nose. “Adults are weird.”

“You’re not wrong.” Crowley really wanted to leave. “Look, as much as I like a nice chat with the neighborhood kids as much as the next bloke, I really should be going.”

The last boy, Wensleydale, adjusted his glasses and tried to glance passed Crowley into the small clinic. “Should you really be going off by yourself, Mr. Officer?”

“Crowley, the name’s Crowley. Why do you ask, exactly?” He glanced around as though he expected the horseman to jump out of the bushes at him. Though, even if that did happen, he knew it wouldn’t have been the weirdest thing to happen to him all day. 

Adam stared at him. “He’s right, you know. Ms. Scarlett was walking around alone when the horseman got her. We don’t want that to happen to you too.”

Crowley rubbed at his eyes under his shades. “Thanks, guys, really. But I’ll be alright. You kids should run along, and I don’t know, do kid things like terrorizing the neighborhood or something.”

Pepper turned to Adam. “Let’s build a trap. He can’t be  _ that _ hard to catch, especially if this moron is running around alone as bait.”

“H-hey,” Crowley stammered. “That’s not…fair. I never agreed to be bait.”

It was too late though, and Crowley knew it. Adam’s eyes sparkled with an overwhelming joy most kids reserve for Christmas Day or a bad weather day for school. “Brilliant. I think I know where we could build it. My dad has loads of stuff we can use in his shed.” Adam glanced back at Crowley before bounding away. “Nice to meet you. Hope we get to see you again before the horseman gets you.”

Crowley grit his teeth but waved and watch them scamper down the road. “Me too, kid. Me too.” He started off in the direction he hoped was the way Newton had run off for lunch. 

It wasn’t long before they crossed paths near the inn. Newt had a basket on his arm full of sliced meats, fresh fruits, and bread. It seemed more like some kind of picnic than a lunch, but Crowley was too hungry to complain, much. He knew he still needed to charge his phone, and so, he opted to relieve the man of Crowley’s share, then made his way back to his room. 

Crowley took the creaking stairs two at a time and only had to snatch his bread back from the floor one time. Once inside, he paused with his back against the door and sighed. His muscles still ached from their stroll through the woods and their run-in with the horseman. He set the bit of lunch on a vanity and fished out his phone. If he’d been thinking, he could’ve tried to charge it back at the doctor’s office, but it was a bit late for that now. He pulled out the charging cable from his other pocket and plugged it into the wall. He also set the two vials witch-girl had used against the horseman on the vanity next to his meal. 

His stomach growled at being so low on his priority list, but he needed to assess the photos as soon as possible. Though, he knew he could spare the ten minutes or so needed to scarf down at least most of the lunch. So much had happened in so little time, and it made Crowley’s leg bounce as he sat on the edge of his bed. He chewed the last bite of bread as his mind worked on arranging the odd assortment of puzzle pieces in his mind. 

A knock sounded from the door.

“Come in,” Crowley said and stood, dusting the breadcrumbs from his shirt. 

Aziraphale stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. “I thought I might find you here. I can leave if you prefer to rest. Though, I do rather hope I’m not imposing.” His eyes darted to the floor as though he expected Crowley to wave him away or snarl at his intrusion. 

“Not at all, angel. Just needed to charge my phone a bit.” He stood and stretched his arms upward, hoping to release some of the tension in his back. He hadn’t been stepped on by that blasted, hellish horse, but he felt sore enough to have been. 

“Are you alright?” Aziraphale stepped further into the room. His concern regarding his company seemed to have morphed into a deeper interest in Crowley’s well-being. His gaze trailed up Crowley’s lean figure, watching as he relaxed his arms once more. 

He rolled his shoulders, hearing a series of pops. “‘M fine, angel. Honestly, I could use a nap before tonight. Didn’t sleep as well as I thought last night.” 

Aziraphale glided forward, and, to Crowley’s surprise, his hands came to rest on his chest. He could feel the warmth of his fingers through the thin fabric of his shirt. Crowley glanced from Aziraphale to his hands, hoping his brain would catch up soon. He met Aziraphale’s eyes. Crowley stared at him and had to remind himself to breathe. A part of his mind, against his better judgment, hoped they could spare just a moment. A moment to not be hot on the heels of a killer, but instead just be two beings, outside of time, and outside of peril. 

“Aziraphale—” 

Crowley was hushed with a soft whisper, “My dear, please. Let me.” He nudged them to the edge of the bed. 

Crowley sat on the old comforter. His heart thundered in his chest, racing like the revving engine of an antique car down a dirt road. He licked his lips as he continued to stare at Aziraphale. “Angel, you know we don’t have to—”

“I want to, my dearest.” His words made Crowley shiver. “That is, if you are amiable, of course.” Aziraphale smiled with a coy crinkle at the edge of his eyes. 

Crowley floundered with his mouth gaping, then tried to swallow down his shock. Maybe they were moving too fast.  _ Was _ this too fast? He wasn’t entirely sure what it even was between them. They needed to talk first. They needed an idea of what the other wanted. He didn’t mind something quick and dirty, well most of the time, but right then with Aziraphale so close. His chest constricted like a coiled snake had slithered inside him, ready to strike and seize its prey. 

This time was different. He wanted more. Crowley knew he was a greedy bastard. He knew what he wanted was dangerous for both of them. It would leave them walking the razor’s edge, balanced between bliss and life-shattering failure. They had already broken quite a few rules with their previous fraternizations, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to stop. 

Whatever cosmic force that had dropped him in that middle-of-nowhere town seemed hellbent on getting him fired with the greatest temptation dangling right in front of him. And, if he were being very honest, he had never really been good at saying no to temptations. At least ones that had interested him and didn’t hurt anyone other than himself, unfortunately. Regardless of the realization, Crowley found his mouth answering with none of his previous cautions. “Very amiable me. Most amiable. The amiablest! Is that a word?” He was babbling, and he knew it, but recognizing what he was doing and stopping were two very different abilities. “Guess it could be but, well you know—”

Aziraphale placed a finger to his lips, and Crowley froze. His eyes fluttered closed, and he risked a feather-light graze of his tongue against his soft fingertip. Crowley shuddered at the taste. The slight salt from his sweat and the sweet hint of fruit from lunch mingled across his senses. He couldn’t stop. Crowley licked again with a tad more fervor, teasing at the skin pressed to his lips. Vaguely, he heard Aziraphale gasp, and he eased his finger further into Crowley’s mouth. 

His whole body shivered as he wrapped his tongue around Aziraphale’s finger and sucked. 

The low groan that escaped from Aziraphale’s lips sent a jolt of pleasure straight to his groin. Crowley whined and sucked harder, running his tongue along the smooth skin. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, leaning closer, and pressed his way between Crowley’s thighs. “May I?”

He nodded vigorously, unwilling to release Aziraphale’s finger yet. 

A hand came to Crowley’s shoulder, and he was eased backward on the bed. He relaxed onto his back, letting his thighs spread, and the weight of his partner settle above him. 

Aziraphale removed his finger and stroked his knuckles across Crowley’s cheek. His eyes softened as they glided along Crowley’s features. “So gorgeous, my dear. Did you know how you took my breath away when I first saw you? I dared not dream that such a truly enchanting creature could ever be tempted to return my affections.”

Crowley’s skin heated as a blush crept from his cheeks and fled down his chest. “Angel,” he groaned. “You can’t say things like that and not expect…something.” His hips bucked up almost of their own accord, seeking friction against his hardening arousal. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale gasped, then the bastard smirked. “My dear, are you telling me that I’m neglecting you?” He adjusted his body and bracketed himself over Crowley, slotting his hips against him. He pulled a whimper from Crowley’s lips as he ground his hips downward. “Is this what you want, my dear?”

“You,” Crowley managed to gasp between his breaths. “Please, angel—Aziraphale. Anything. Anything you want.”

Aziraphale leaned down, pressing delicate kisses along his jawline. “Anything? That could cover many things. It almost sounds like you want me for some silly reason,” he chuckled and continued to trail kisses along his jaw, then moved to suck a mark at his throat. 

Crowley wrapped his arms around him and did his best to contain himself instead of rutting against him like a bloody horny teenager. He didn’t want to appear overeager; however, he was pretty sure their interrogation in the jail had already established that to be the case. 

Aziraphale pushed up Crowley’s shirt, and together they drew it over his head and tossed it onto the floor. His mouth moved over Crowley’s skin. Each kiss that peppered his chest blossomed into little shivers down his spine, and it added to the tightness in his pants that was bordering on unbearable. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley moaned, near the point of begging, and closed his eyes. If he were anywhere in his right mind, he would’ve tried to restrain himself. But the heat that seared his body and the coiling in the pit of his belly felt too good to care about anything else. 

“Don’t worry, my dear. I will take care of you. I will make you mine, so that no one else may ever claim you again.”

Something in the words stirred inside of Crowley, and not in a pleasant way. He blinked his eyes open in time to see Aziraphale ease the boarding dagger from its back sheath and plunge it for his heart. 


	8. For the Record

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley gets some very unsettling news about the case that will affect his relationship with Aziraphale and possibly change his life forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know many of you have been eagerly awaiting this chapter. I've worked hard to bring it to you as quickly as I can without having the quality suffer. I hope you enjoy and thank you so much for your kudos and super sweet comments! <3

Crowley shot out of bed, landing in a tangled heap of blankets and limbs on the floor. Amidst everything that had happened, why? Why had Aziraphale attacked him? A thick fog clouded his mind, smearing together his thoughts into a tangled mess like sewer slime clogging a pipe. His heart hammered against his ribs as he padded the floor for some kind of weapon. But the idea of using any weapon against his partner tugged him back into a heap on the floor.

He gasped for air like a drowning man breaking through to the surface. The room was noisy with the constant thrum of his pulse ringing in his ears. Crowley blinked up into a muted crimson haze from the setting sun as it sliced through the shuddered window. His clothes clung to him as sweat beaded down his body. None of it made any sense. Crowley glanced around again, terrified at what he’d find, but he needed to know. He forced his trembling body to stand, even if he still had to lean against the bed. 

_ Where is Aziraphale?  _

His labored breathing and pulse filled the room, and only then did he realize that it was empty. He glanced at his phone on the vanity, which had a blessedly green light. Charged and ready to go.

He shoved a hand through his matted auburn strands, trying to blink away the fog that encompassed his mind. 

A dream, he realized. It had all been a dream. 

Crowley sank back to the floor. His legs seemed unwilling to keep him upright any longer against the surge of adrenaline that had spiked his system. He felt like he had shot eight espressos in a row after downing a case of Red Bull. His throat bobbed as he tried to remove the dried sandpaper someone had apparently wedged down his mouth. He closed his eyes and breathed. 

He’d had dreams like that before, horrible nightmares that made him wake up screaming. Most of them had faded after the first few years on the force. So, nothing new, except it had been years since anything had scared him that much. He tried to clear his mind. 

Maybe forgetting about the nightmare was best. He didn’t think dissecting his subconscious as it attempted to frame his partner for murder would help him in the long run. Though Crowley knew himself to be a downright insufferable bastard at times, so it wouldn’t really surprise him all that much, except…

Except, he thought with a start, that he trusted Aziraphale. And for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why. They hadn’t known each other for long, and already he had let the man in on his life in so many ways. 

The truth remained that in the last five years, Crowley had his few flings, some hot nights where the feeling to part ways before morning had been mutual, but a real relationship? Something more with soft touches or lazy mornings that didn’t have anything to do with sex had been the furthest from his mind longer than he could remember. 

A part of him realized that he’d expected to be dead before finding that with someone. He knew the risks of his job. He knew what he had given up to protect those unable to defend themselves. And he had accepted it. 

Then Aziraphale had walked in, well rode in on a horse-drawn carriage, into his life and changed everything. For the first time in his entire adult life, he wanted more than sex, more than a single, lonely bed with nothing but his plants to keep him company. 

Crowley glanced at Dennis, still on his end table near the window. He sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “I think I’m royally fucked this time.” Then he added for good measure. “You’d better be glad he likes you so much, cause if this goes tits up, at least you’ll still have an angel watching over you.” 

He stood, wobbling only a little, and gave the plant some water. He would have to order a new spray bottle soon. The bastard would get spoiled without a proper amount of hydration. 

A knock sounded from the door, and Crowley flinched. 

He swallowed, unsure if he really wanted to know who was there. The bloody horseman could’ve been standing there, flaming sword and all, and Crowley would’ve still breathed a sigh of relief.

The knock came again.

Crowley straightened and stepped closer to Dennis, hoping he wouldn’t have to sacrifice him in a horrible escape attempt. “What?” he called.

“It’s Avery. Thought you could use more towels and perhaps some fresh linens.”

Crowley almost thanked her for not being Aziraphale and decided against that for a conversation starter. “Yeah, sounds good.” He shambled across the room and opened the door. 

She smiled as she handed him the towels. “You look slightly better than you did this morning. If you need to freshen up more, I can change the linens while you’re at the party tonight, if you prefer.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “How’d you know I’d be going?”

Avery gave him a flat look, then readjusted the linens draped over her arm. “Are you kidding me? The mayor has been all but sprinting up and down the streets shouting about the party at the Fell manor tonight. He also has been running his kitchen staff ragged, getting everything prepared because, and I quote, ‘there’s a new sheriff in town.’” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve got a wager that he says it at least twenty times before midnight tonight. The highest bet from his staff is in the sixties. Don’t be surprised if he tries to flaunt you around a bit.”

Crowley tried to suppress the dry-heaving noises clambering from his throat. “Maybe, I can throw myself out the window a few times and have a good enough excuse to miss out on all the  _ fun _ .”

Avery leaned against the door and smirked. “You could. But then there would be a certain partner of yours so worried and fretting about your health. Not to mention he’d have to go to the party alone, and who knows who he’ll have to dance with if you’re not there to protect him.”

Crowley stared at her and had a stronger inclination to actually throw himself out. “How do you—”

She scoffed, waving him off, and readjusted the sheets. “It’s a small town here, Mr. Crowley. The way you two have been stuck at the hip all day is going to make people talk.” She smiled, and Crowley did his best to refrain from banging his head against the wall. “Besides,” she added, “If you skip out tonight, then I lose my bet on if you two hook-up.”

“Oi! Not happening,” Crowley growled. “My sex life is not some game that you can bet on.”

Avery shrugged and stepped away from the doorframe. “We’ll see. Help me win my bet, and you’ll get fresh towels every hour if you wanted. Hell, I’ll stick those little mints on your pillow too.”

Crowley was already shaking his head. “Nope, not gonna happen. Oh, think I hear my phone ringing. Thanks for the towels. Ciao!” He shut the door, ignoring her giggling voice as it echoed down the hallway. 

He knew he needed to get a move on if he wanted to make it to the party in time. Not that he cared about his punctuality, but he didn’t want to lose any more time questioning more of the locals. It was a distinct possibility that the killer himself would be there. Crowley also had no idea what kind of security measures the Fell manor had arranged for its guests. With the threat of a horseback homicidal maniac on the loose, he’d hoped there would be some sort of guards around the place. Otherwise, it was just him and Aziraphale. 

He knew the town had Shadwell and the Newt boy too, but still, something grated against his nerves. It had the same itch he felt when he knew they were walking into a trap. 

Crowley grumbled about the crazy countryside and how the city hadn’t had any of this nonsense. 

“Why can’t they have a boring ol’ murder? Knifing in the back or a club to the face? No, had to be some sword-wielding terror from the fiery pits of Hell.”

He grabbed his phone, unplugging it, and turned it on. He needed to see if his packages would arrive by tomorrow. He’d had to overnight some things, like a new set of pants and a toothbrush. Crowley hadn’t realized how much he’d become accustomed to urban convenience. It only made him want to bang his head on the wall more.

His phone pinged.

Then, pinged quite a few more times.

Crowley narrowed his gaze to the screen. He had a few emails and some missed phone calls from an unknown number, probably scammers or insurance calls. He glanced over the emails first. Some spam, some confirming that his packages had shipped; however, there was one from the Bedford Precinct. It was a report from the autopsy on Miss Scarlett. A few of the test results had come in. 

Crowley read over the report, and his eyes widened. 

He read over it three more times and slid to the floor. 

There had been a sample collected from the victim, one that hadn’t matched with Miss Scarlett’s DNA. And they had found a match. They had a suspect. One that he needed to take into custody immediately. 

Crowley scrambled to his feet and fled out the door. He didn’t know if he’d remembered his keys or not. All he knew is that he had to get to the manor. 

He threw open the front door and took the path to the road in just a few strides. To his surprise, a familiar white carriage was parked near the gate. Cass was hopping down from the driver’s seat as he approached. 

“You heading to the manor?” Crowley asked, already flinging open the door.

Cass blinked at him, then nodded. “Yeah. Was coming to get you actually.”

“Good. Get me there double-time, and there’ll be a nice big tip innit for ya.” He sprawled across the seat and yanked the door closed.

He felt the slight lurch of the driver climbing back up, then the surge as Cass hurried on the team of horses. Crowley opened his phone and returned the call to the unknown number on the off chance that it was related to the case. It was apparently from one of the dispatchers at the Bedford office. Dagon had been trying to get ahold of him but had already left for the day. He would have to call back tomorrow.

Crowley slammed the End Call button and hissed out a groan. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. It had just kinda happened, and the world seemed to be burning because of it. He glared at the black screen on the phone once more, then decided he’d need to call in a few favors if he was going to make sure this didn’t come back to bite him in the ass. Screw playing by the rules. This time it was personal. 

About twenty minutes later, the carriage pulled to a halt near the back of the house. Crowley stumbled out of the contraption before Cass had a chance to step down from his perch. He glanced around and spied the manor looming behind him. Cass had parked them near the stables and, from what he could guess, the kitchen’s entrance. The estate was only slightly less spectacular than an actual castle. It rose high in the air with at least three stories. The walls were covered in creeping vines and aging moss. Each window glowed with candles and electric lights. The former flickering out against the darkness as the evening came to claim the land.

He shivered then, realizing the cold had crept in with the fading sun. Winter would be upon them before they realized it, and if they weren’t careful, not many would be around to enjoy it. A horse whinnied and sent spasms down Crowley’s back. He jumped, readying for an attack, but he couldn’t see any death steed, just the four beasts still hitched to the carriage. 

“Crowley?”

He spun and saw Aziraphale, stepping down from the stairs at the kitchen entrance. He wore a majestic cream and gold embroidered coat with hints of lace along the cuffs. The swirling patterns of golden thread shimmered under the lamplight, giving him an almost ethereal glow. The ensemble included a thin glittering masquerade mask that concealed his brows yet managed to highlight the brightness of his eyes. He also wore a delicate gold halo that rested just above his blond curls.

“Angel,” Crowley whispered as he stepped forward. 

Aziraphale glanced away. “I know. It’s a bit garish, but well, with it being near All Hallows’ Eve and all. I thought it appropriate even if it’s a bit much.”

“No,” Crowley said before he could catch up with his words. “You’re perfect.” He stepped closer and glanced over his partner’s regal attire, like a prince in a wondrous fairytale.

“Oh,” Aziraphale flushed and gave him a small smile. “That’s, um…you are too kind, my dear.”

His words struck Crowley like a vat of ice water spilling over his frame. He shook his head, “No, not me. Not really.” He tried to step back, to return to the appropriate distance, but Aziraphale stepped with him. His brows knitting together as he glanced over Crowley’s disheveled state. “Are you alright?”

“Eh, well, no. Not really. Need to talk. Someplace private.” He shoved his hands into his tight pockets and tried to not grind his teeth into dust. He didn’t want to tell Aziraphale the truth. Partially because he didn’t think it was true, but even if that was the case, then what did that mean. Even if they still had a suspect, it didn’t make their case any simpler; it only added more questions. However, at least with questions, they didn’t come at you wielding a flaming sword, usually. 

“Is this about the um…case?”

Crowley nodded, recognizing the severe tone of Aziraphale’s voice. 

“Right. Well, we need to get you changed for the party as well, so this way.” He turned on a heel and headed back up the stairs to the door. 

Crowley sauntered after him. He’d forgotten his glasses back at the inn, which meant he’d have to make do without them for the evening. It didn’t bode well for how the remainder of the day would turn out. To be fair, coming face-to-face with a hellish nightmare as a serial killer was probably his first clue that this would be one for the record books. 

They made their way through a massive kitchen, filled with bustling servers and cooks—each calling out spices and dishes ready to be served. Countless steaming plates lined the bar waiting for servers to pile them onto silver trays. Crowley glanced for a bottle of something strong but couldn’t find anything worth grabbing. Aziraphale wound them through the throngs of people and through a wide wooden door. They walked in silence down a long corridor with more servers coming and going around them. 

It took them a few minutes and a few winding staircases later to end up in a large suite. Crowley blinked upon entering the sitting room. He spotted several stacks of books and a smattering of papers across a large desk near a window. A few pictures sat on a vanity, and some clothes were tossed around in a haphazard fashion. Crowley spied two more doors in the room, one was closed, and the other appeared to lead to another room with a large four-poster bed that most definitely gave Crowley ideas. 

“Aziraphale, is this your room?”

He glanced back with a small grin. “Why yes, we had to come here anyway for your costume for tonight.” He opened a large wooden wardrobe in the far corner of the sitting area. “It’s as good of a place as any to talk.” He paused, then continued rummaging. “If you’re worried about being interrupted, you could lock the door.”

Crowley’s throat bobbed once, but despite Aziraphale’s flirtations, it didn’t diminish the rising guilt that threatened to consume him. “Aziraphale…that’s not really why, I mean, this is more…”

Aziraphale paused the clothes-gathering and turned back to him again. “I know, dear. I apologize. I find it difficult to contain my urge to see you flustered. It makes me smile to see you able to be yourself. Even in these tiny moments, even if nothing becomes of it between us, I want you to know that it’s still okay for you to be yourself, even for a moment.”

Crowley did his best to not let his words prickle at the corners of his eyes. No one had ever said something like that to him before. It almost made him feel…cherished. As though the man standing before him had picked up something precious off the side of the road and deemed it worthy of love without needing a reason to do so. And perhaps, that was what had happened.

It did not make his situation any easier, by far. 

“Aziraphale, I need to show you something.”

His partner blinked and set down the bundle of clothes. “A new development, I assume?”

Crowley nodded, then fished out his phone, tapped a few buttons, and handed it to him. “You know how to read forensic reports, right?”

“Of course. The late doctor had a few I was able to look over from his colleagues just for practice, mind you, so I am not an expert.” He pulled out small spectacles from a pocket inside the coat and placed them on his nose. 

Aziraphale held a pleased smile as he started to read. It faded over time and shifted into a thin line. He reached for the nearby settee and sat before his legs appeared to give way. Crowley sat with him and waited. 

Soon, Aziraphale set the phone on the end table next to him and laced his fingers together in his lap. “I…” He licked his lips and turned his gaze to Crowley. His complexion had paled, but Crowley had expected that reaction. “You know…You must know…” He gasped as his breathing grew more rapid with each passing second. 

Crowley placed a hand over his trembling fists. “I…want to—” 

Aziraphale flinched as though he’d been slapped.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, but it sounded harsher than he’d intended. “We’ve only known each other for barely a day. You can’t expect,” he took a deep breath. “I’m not saying this is it. Case closed. All I’m saying is that…I’ll have to go at it alone from here on out, till I get to the bottom of this. Come on, don’t gimme that look. We both know it has to be this way.”

Aziraphale brushed Crowley’s hand aside and stood. “And what if this is what they want? What if this is how they…” He stood trembling. “This can’t be the only option. There has to be another way. Maybe we can come to some sort of, I don’t know, maybe an Arrangement? We can outwit them if we put our heads together.” 

Crowley shook his head. He was glad that he hadn’t eaten much that day, or it might have tried to come back up then. “Angel, you know that will only make things worse for both of us. If I’m pulled off the case, I guarantee someone with less experience will be sent up here and fuck it all up. If…” he ground his teeth together and stepped closer to Aziraphale. His partner didn’t back away, but he didn’t appear pleased either. “If this is falsified—”

“Really?” Aziraphale snapped. “ _ If! _ If this is falsified?! Oh, of course. I’m sure you think I make a habit of bedding the local law enforcement.”

Crowley must have given him a wrong look at that moment, and really wished he hadn’t forgotten his sunglasses at the inn, because Aziraphale halted in his tracks and seethed, “How dare you? I can’t believe I—Get out! Remove yourself from my quarters this instant.”

Crowley licked his lips and stepped forward. “Aziraphale, I’m not saying it isn’t falsified. But…that means this is more than some random, pissed off farmer trying to bash in a few heads. It means they’ve got someone on the inside. This is so much bigger than either of us. If we don’t do this right, it won’t just be the case that ends this crazy nightmare, it’ll be the case that ends everything. This museum, the Fell manor, the police force here, everything. It will end  _ everything _ .”

Aziraphale eased forward and seemed to deflate. The much more sinister part of Crowley’s mind replayed the end of his nightmare, but he realized, at that moment, that even if that  _ did _ happen, he wouldn’t stop him.  _ Fuck. _

He’d been right, he was well and truly fucked. 

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him and rested his head on his shoulder. Time seemed to stop for them as they stood embraced by one another. Crowley inhaled, soaking in Aziraphale’s scent of lavender with hints of dusty leather. Despite all his years of training and years on the force, he just couldn’t bring himself to believe that the report was anything else other than a fake. He chuckled and dropped his forehead to rest on Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“Laughing at me or yourself, my dear?”

It took him a minute to form the idea into words. But as soon as he retained them, he could feel their truth like a warm glow radiating throughout his chest. “It’s just that no matter how much I try to stay unbiased about this, I just can’t do it. Never felt this before. So, even if you turn out to be the murderer for some reason, I don’t think I can do it. I don’t think I can…” The rest felt caught in his throat. He didn’t want to say it. In some way, he feared that saying the words out loud would make them real. 

Aziraphale raised his head and forced Crowley to meet his eyes. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” he swallowed down a lump. “I’m saying if it’s true, and it _ is  _ you, just get it over with because I’m too much yours now. Don’t want to keep doing this without you, angel. ‘s not worth it anymore.” He paused, searching his gaze. “I think I was already worried it was you. Had a nightmare that you…you took your dagger and well, sure you can figure out the rest. But, I guess the thing that got me was that I didn’t care.” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him. “Okay, yes, I did care, but I mean, I didn’t…I didn’t fight back, didn’t want to. I’ve fallin’ too far to stop now, angel. So, it’s up to you. How do you want this to end?”

Aziraphale stared at him for a long time. Then, he eased his hand back and removed the dagger from its sheath behind his coat. 

Crowley stared at it as it gleamed in the lamplight from the room. It was odd to him that he didn’t feel scared. Perhaps, he should be, but amidst everything else swelling inside him, fear was the least of his concerns. 

He looked into Aziraphale’s eyes. “Let’s get this over with.”


	9. Where Did it Go Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Author Note: Hey guys! I'm so sorry for the long break between these chapters. My mental health wasn't allowing me to work on anything. I am slightly optimistic about how I'm doing now, but unfortunately that can change without notice. I promise you though, I am doing everything in my power to get things back to a normal release schedule. Your comments and likes have truly kept me going and eager to post even more in the future. Thank you for all of your support! You guys are amazing. :)
> 
> ****SMUT warning!!!****
> 
> ***And feeling too!!! You have been warned!!***
> 
> Please note the new rating and tags!! Thank you!

“You’re right, my dear. This has gone on long enough.” He adjusted his sleeves with his dagger still in hand and finished up by tweaking the tartan gold bowtie at his throat.

Crowley blinked at the Victorian angel standing before him. The costume fit him perfectly in Crowley’s opinion. He could see him sitting in a worn chair with a good book and a cup of cocoa, maybe even using his glowing halo as a reading light. The thought made him smile, but the dagger still perched in Aziraphale’s hand brought reality drowning down around him. He met Aziraphale’s eyes.

His angelic partner cleared his throat. “Sergeant Crowley, it has been wonderful working with you, and I hope this does not put a damper on our…um, friendship.” He thrust the dagger forward…

…and set it in Crowley’s hand. “Do you have cuffs, or should I look for a pair? I warn you the few I own are not…standard issue for the police force.” He cleared his throat again and held his hands out in front of him.

Crowley blinked in utter confusion, then glanced down at the dagger that glinted in the lamplight on his palm. “You…Are you turning yourself in?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I didn’t do it, obviously. But procedure dictates that you take me in for questioning and confine me until the case is closed or other damning evidence comes to light.”

“Yes, yes. I know all that,” Crowley hissed. The whole situation was taking years off his life, he was sure. “But what about the whole unified front thingy?”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him like the smug bastard he was and clicked his tongue. “In trying times as these, we must outwit our opponent, and to do so, we must start by playing along with their little farse.”

Crowley nodded, catching on. “I got it. Make them think they’ve made us hate each other or at least suspect the other or something. Could work. Good start, at least.”

“Precisely. Now the next part is a bit tricky, but first, I need to know. Crowley, my dear, I need to know that you trust me when I say I did not kill those people or anyone for that fact. This will not work if we do not have implicit trust in one another.” He paused, waiting. His eyes bore into Crowley’s as though searching through whatever remained of his soul.

The words hit him harder than he thought possible. Crowley had known since they’d met that an unusual amount of trust had sprouted between them. But it had been something like the sun, and if he looked at it too closely, it would burst him into agonizing flames, continuing to burn him until he was nothing but a pile of ash to blow away in the wind.

“Shit,” Crowley hissed out, then ran a hand through his hair. “It’s been, what? Twenty-four hours. You’re asking me if after twenty-four hours if I trust you with everything? My life? For fuck’s sake, can anyone do it? Can anyone trust someone after a day? Completely?”

Aziraphale eased down his scrutiny and re-laced his fingers behind his back. “I suppose in a perfect world, perhaps. But no, that does seem like more than anyone should need to bare. I apologize, my dear.”

Crowley paced in a small circle, throwing his hands in the air. “Yeah, well, I’m sorry too. Because the answer is yes. Shitshitshit! Why me? Better yet, why you? Why’d it have to be you with your angel eyes and gorgeously sharp bastard of a mind, and tartan, really?”

Aziraphale gasped at the insult on his style and brushed a hand to his bowtie. “Really, my dear. Tartan is stylish.” He paused, “Wait, so you’re saying you do trust me?”

Crowley pawed at his face and groaned, feeling much more foolish by the second. “Yes, fine. I hope you’re bloody well happy because I have spent years cultivating my amazing lone cop routine, and you come in all bright and fluffy with fucking lace tights and make me break every single rule I ever made for myself, to stay alive, mind you. And now, they’re just gone. Just pleh—” He flung his hands out, then stomped over to the settee and draped himself over it like one of the many pieces of clothing strewn about the room.

Crowley knew he was a moron, knew it for most of his life, actually. He’d never made the best choices growing up. Somehow he’d always managed to sweet-talk or sneak away before anything really nasty happened. It had all been a big part of his decision to join the police force. He knew what a hard life did to kids, he knew some were as dumb as he’d been, so that’s why he’d joined. Crowley hoped he could make a difference in their life, and maybe even show them that there were more options than they’d initially thought.

And even now, he still held that innocent optimism.

Crowley flung an arm across his face. The logic side of his brain insisted this was a bad idea, and he agreed it was without a doubt the worst of ideas, in fact, and still, he was—

“My dear, I understand you are in the middle of an existential crisis. But may I remind you we have quite a lot on our plate this evening, and that doesn’t even include the dessert table. I may have been a bit peckish before you arrived, and I can tell you that the crème brûlée this evening is quite scrummy.”

“I’m sure you’re right, angel. And I agree we need to get a move on, but for someone’s sake, I am having a moment here!” Crowley flopped and floundered again until he was sprawled facedown on the elegant sofa. His mind was still playing catch up with the fact that he was about to take a nosedive off a rather large and imposing cliff with only Aziraphale there assuring him it was safe. Or, more likely, he’d already leaped off and was only then glancing back at the safety of the cliffside wondering if he should’ve, perhaps, thought it through a bit more.

Fingers carded through his hair, and he shivered. Aziraphale was touching him, and it was difficult to feel that gentle, yet firm grip on his hair without it going straight to his cock. He remembered those hands working him over in the sad excuse of an office. But, that didn’t matter, because every fiber of his being felt as though it were burning under the attention of those hands, and he didn’t mind if it burned him alive.

“My dear,” Aziraphale whispered. “I know you must, um, well, arrest me—and we will get to that—but, do you think it could wait until after the party?”

Crowley lifted his head, scrunching his nose in thought. “Why?”

“Because if I am correct, I believe the murderer will make an appearance at the party this evening, and I’d really hate to spoil our chances.”

“And what? They’re just going to have a big sign ‘round their neck or something? Murderer here, don’t mind me unless you’re next!” Crowley knew he was being a bit of a bitch, but his care and stress levels had rendered him useless for the moment.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, glancing at him through the glittering masquerade mask, which only seemed to add to his accusing stare. “Well, if memory serves me correct, you and I should be the only ones who know of the falsified document, other than the corrupt officer and the murderer. Or, perhaps the police officer and murderer are one and the same, but I digress. The guilty party would know that you would’ve read said document and know I am a suspect, however wrongly accused.”

Crowley sat up. His brain leaped ahead, realizing where he was going with his little ploy. “They won’t be expecting you here tonight! They would’ve guessed I’d ’ave locked you up by now.”

“Precisely, anyone who seems surprised by my presence will be in on their little ruse, giving us the upper hand. Though, we will need to keep our wits about us as their shock may not be completely obvious.”

Crowley nodded along. “Yeah, keep our eyes peeled and pump the crowd for info.”

Aziraphale sat on the end of the settee next to him. “Hopefully, you don’t mean that in the same way I…pumped you for information earlier.”

Crowley shivered at the thought. Right then was most definitely not the time to be thinking with his other head. However, his brain was still reeling from the revelation of the double-crossing cop. That, and that Aziraphale had ended up as the first suspect, so rational thought was a bit low on his priorities.

He sat up and met Aziraphale’s smug gaze. Crowley leaned forward, resting a hand next to Aziraphale’s thigh. “Angel,” he grinned, “are you worried about what I would do for information?”

The air charged around them with a near electric surge. Crowley could feel his pants tightening, eager to feel those hands on him again. Aziraphale appeared to be having a similar response. Still, nowhere near the level Crowley seemed to be with the liquid heat pooling in his belly. He licked his lips. “Because I will do anything to get to the bottom of this, angel, anything.” His gaze slid over the delectable angel in front of him, pausing at his luscious thighs. Oh, how he wanted to sink between them. He would suck on them, bite them, absolutely ravish him with just his thighs, and there was so much more of him he’d explore with the same lengthy devotion.

“My dear Sargeant, do you think I am withholding information? I suspect it would take a rather hard resolve to break me if that were the case. They would need to be persistent, even if I were to beg, or plead, or offer…other services in return.” His hand reached up and caressed Crowley’s jawline.

It sent a jolt of electricity down his spine. He couldn’t help but lean into the touch.

“You are exquisite, my dear. Please…may I see you?”

In some corner of his mind, Crowley realized that the roles he had initially been trying to establish had been tossed out the window. Not that he minded at all. “See me?” His clothes felt close to burning him under the scorch of his own need.

“Well,” Aziraphale mused, then leaned over, leaving a trail of kisses along his jaw. “Since you need to remove them to change for the party, perhaps we could put you to use beforehand.” His fingers grazed along the bottom of Crowley’s black shirt.

Crowley licked his lips, trying to remember how to speak again. “H-had something in mind?”

Aziraphale relaxed back on the sofa, almost lounging at least by his standards. “If you are not opposed to the idea, yes.”

“Nope! No opposition from me, just-just the opposite, in fact.” Crowley followed him along the couch, nuzzling his neck, and left little kisses along the curving lines of his skin. He couldn’t help himself, and his tongue darted out, tasting that pink-tinted flesh. The hint of salt and sweetness there pulled a soft moan from his throat. Crowley also noticed Aziraphale’s breathing steadily become more rapid.

“Oh, my dear. Would you…would you mind standing for me? Just…I want to look at you.”

Crowley had an idea where this was going and kissed his neck once more before flinging himself from the elegant upholstery. He stood and couldn’t help but turning in a small circle for him. Crowley even gave him a little wink. “Like what you see, angel?”

Aziraphale stared at him, eyes wide and focused on him with his lips slightly parted. He looked ready to devour him.

It only fueled his lust-addled brain even more, enough to shove down his fears for the time being. His shoulders relaxed, and he realized he was sweating some. Happened in rooms without air conditioning, he guessed. “Guess I could get these off? Hard to try on clothes like this, I suppose.” His hands slid down across his chest, tugging the fabric tight across his lean frame. He heard Aziraphale let out a low, breathy “Oh,” and he knew he had to kick it up a notch.

He slipped his fingers underneath the hem of his shirt, revealing one boney hip. He then slid it up just high enough to expose the dusting of copper hair that trailed from his navel and down below his waistband.

Crowley watched as Aziraphale brushed his palm over the bulge in his cream-colored silk pants. He squirmed under the light touch, all the while keeping his gaze roaming across the expanse of Crowley’s lean body. Faint wisps of music drifted up into the room from outside. The party was apparently in full swing, but Crowley couldn’t care less.

He lifted his shirt, letting it glide up his body before tossing it in the corner of the room. His cheeks tinted with a faint blush. And he realized it’d been some time since he’d given someone a striptease; however, with Aziraphale sitting in front of him, palming himself over the cloth of his pants, it gave him the encouragement he needed to continue. It was a delightful feeling to see his partner slipping into a debauched state from just showing a bit of skin. If he got his way, then he would get to do a bit more than that.

“Crowley, would you come here?”

Crowley snapped his gaze up, staring into Aziraphale’s eyes. He didn’t think something as simple as the use of his name would give him such a hard-on. His senses buzzed as he stepped forward. His pulse thumped in his ears as he watched Aziraphale sit up straight on the sofa and press his fingertips against the tent in Crowley’s jeans. The touch made him want to fling the trousers through the window. He ached for Aziraphale to desire his skin. To let him seem important to someone for once in his life, as though he were someone special, as though he wouldn’t be alone when the day finally came to bury him in the earth. He’d always known some of the guys on the force would show up out of obligation, but really, he’d never pictured loved ones morning his death.

Crowley stared down at Aziraphale as this revelation hit him. Would Aziraphale love him? Is that what this was? He didn’t know, but he was also too flooded with endorphins to really worry about that right then.

“This looks painful,” Aziraphale mused, apparently finding his footing once more. “Here, let me help you with that.”

Crowley caught his hands before they could unzip his trousers. “Not this time. I think turnabout is only fair.”

Aziraphale pouted but sighed in mock regret and leaned back. “I suppose I did lavish you with quite a bit of attention and neglect my own needs earlier. You are a fiend, however, for not letting me touch that beautiful skin of yours, my dear.”

“Duly noted,” Crowley smirked, then reached for his zipper. The hum of the tiny metal sliding down seemed to echo in the room. Aziraphale stared as though transfixed by the events unfolding before him. And Crowley’s own breath appeared caught behind his teeth. He wasn’t shy with his partners, not normally at least, not when it didn’t matter. Not when he didn’t care if they saw each other the next day or the day after.

Crowley swallowed, his throat coarse from a thirst that water could not satisfy, and he wiggled free from his tight black jeans with much less finesse than he would’ve liked. This did not deter Aziraphale’s unwavering gaze to his relief.

He wore black cotton briefs that clung to his figure. They were stretched tight against the strain of his cock. It was impossibly hard, aching for one of those well-manicured hands to touch him. He wanted to groan in frustration. The darker part of him urged him to snatch Aziraphale’s hands back and drag them across his body. He wanted nothing more than to feel how gentle his touch would be, featherlight against his skin. Or, if he preferred, rough with insatiable need. A desire that tugged him into a wet kiss full of tongue and breathy moans, and all while he gripped his hair and pumping his cock until they made a mess of him all over those pretty golden clothes.

But this wasn’t about Crowley. It was about Aziraphale. He wanted it to be about Aziraphale, his partner. He wanted him to bask under the same warmth and care that Aziraphale had shown him. They had already shown they would die for another, so what more was left when the question of devotion came to light. Would there be any doubts if Aziraphale asked him for more? If he asked him for his heart, would he even hesitate?

The soft graze of fingertips across his skin yanked him from his thoughts.

“Sorry. I worried you were lost in thought, dear. Do you want to talk about it?” His words were as soft and gentle as the fingers exploring Crowley’s chest.

He didn’t really want to talk about it, or anything really. Instead of answering, he slipped his fingers underneath the hem of his pants, then freed his flush cock from its confines. He rolled his shoulders, reveling in the cool evening air tickling across his skin, and kicked the trousers and pants to the corner of the room. He shivered and met Aziraphale’s eyes.

Under that stare, Crowley flinched as it pierced him down to the core of his being. He knew he wouldn’t have any control if Aziraphale needed him, if he asked for something, hell probably even if he demanded it. It wasn’t a healthy realization, either. One that was broken and jaded, just like him.

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed in worry. “My dear, please come here.”

The hands that had been tracing his lean frame eased to his sides, not demanding, but asking. Crowley let himself be pulled into Aziraphale’s lap. He didn’t speak; he couldn’t, not without breaking so many dams along the way.

“My dear, my Crowley. You know if you’re not ready, if you don’t want this, then we don’t have to do this. You don’t have to prove yourself to me. I will not treat you differently.”

Crowley vaguely realized he was shaking. He grabbed Aziraphale’s arms and rested his forehead on his shoulder. He couldn’t let him see when he broke. He wouldn’t.

“I know this case has been…trying,” he chuckled, “to say the least. But really, in all honesty, I enjoy my time with you. I cherish it. I cherish you. I…have had partners that let me take whatever I want. While I admit there is some thrill in that, with you,” Aziraphale hesitated and seemed to be contemplating his words. “It’s different in a truly wonderful way. Please, never let me take from you anything you don’t wish to give. You are too precious to me to want any harm to come to you, especially from my own hand. If you promise me nothing else, just promise me this, would you?”

It was nothing and everything all at once. Crowley knew all he had to do was speak a word, a single word, and yet, he found his voice lodged down deep inside himself, far from the freedom of his mouth. Instead, for now, he settled for a nod. He would try. He would work toward that shining person Aziraphale apparently thought he could be and that somewhere along the way Crowley had managed to give up on.

“Very good, dear. Now, what would you like to do?” Aziraphale unwound one of Crowley’s arms from him and guided his hand up to his lips, peppering his fingertips with small kisses.

Crowley stared at the gesture, then leaned forward and captured his mouth with his own. It released something inside of him that came out as a groan. A low guttural noise that started in his chest and eased out from between his teeth. He’d imagined the first time they did this, it would either be hot, heavy, and quite messy as they were obviously pushed to their limits. Or, it would be shy and chaste even, like two young lovers meeting for the first time. It was neither.

One kiss led to another, and each was more toe-curling than the last. It sent spikes of electricity down to his fingertips, short-circuiting his brain along the way. They were slow kisses filled with a powerful sensation behind them. Crowley thought he could feel the possessive nature entangled in their gentle touch. And for once, it wasn’t the skewed power of bending the other to their will. More like a vow, a promise. One that spoke of protection, of giving everything they could to be the better version of themselves. To be that blinding light in the darkest depths of the bottomless sea called life. And he wanted so much more.

Crowley slid his tongue along Aziraphale’s lip, seeking entry. His mouth was warm and tasted of some sugary dessert that had a mild strawberry aftertaste. Crowley could imagine feeding him strawberries and licking the juices from those tantalizing lips. Lips that were now gliding across his own, tasting the sweat on his skin. It surprised him when those same lips pressed eagerly against his mouth and igniting every nerve in his body.

Crowley eased back and rested his forehead against Aziraphale’s shoulder once again. “Can I taste you?”

Aziraphale leaned back against the back of the settee and gasped out a low breath. “Of course, as long as it’s not because of some kind of,” he waved his hand about, “obligation.”

Crowley licked a stripe down his neck, unable to resist. “I want to,” he whispered against his skin.

“Then, by all means,” Aziraphale said and leaned his head back.

Crowley slid from his lap, kneeling on the floor. There was a rug, but he knew he would be aching after, not that he really cared. He found the multitude of buttons on the bygone breeches and got to work. He needed both hands and even his teeth at one point to unfasten them all.

Crowley breathed out as Aziraphale’s throbbing erection sprang free. It was nestled below a patch of blond curls that tapered up to his navel. He leaned forward and nuzzled against his thigh, nipping at the bit of flesh uncovered. Aziraphale twitched from the little love bites and swore under his breath. Crowley grinned at the revelation and licked, then sucked at the skin. He knew a bruise along Aziraphale’s neck might cause questions, but he doubted one hidden at his thigh would be seen.

Fingers intertwined into his hair. His nails scraped against Crowley’s scalp and seemed to be urging him on. Aziraphale let out small, breathy moans as Crowley worked him over.

Crowley could see how flush his cock appeared, bouncing as Aziraphale squirmed against him. The tip glistened in the lamplight, and Crowley knew he needed to speed things along if he wanted to make good on his word. He moved.

He swallowed Aziraphale down as far as he could go without warning, dragging a throaty moan from Aziraphale’s mouth. Fingers tugged at his coppery hair. Aziraphale moved Crowley’s head in a soft rhythm with his hips. He seemed to be testing Crowley’s abilities, and Crowley knew he’d be pleasantly surprised.

The whole act pooled deep in Crowley’s belly. It was the most erotic thing he’d ever felt, which was odd as he’d done this before, but not with Aziraphale, not with the most important person…

He’d save that thought for later.

His tongue swirled over the supple skin. He licked, he sucked, and he moaned against the hard erection gently thrusting into his mouth. His hands roamed over Aziraphale’s clothed legs as he worked.

Aziraphale gasped out a needy whine with a heightened enthusiasm that was a bit louder than his earlier quiet vocal wisps of pleasure. “Crowley,” he groaned through panting breaths, “I-I’m close…” He thrust with a bit more earnest, and Crowley took it all.

Crowley released Aziraphale’s thighs with one of his hands and grabbed the base of his own desperate cock. He pumped himself, and Aziraphale tugged his hair, then the angel came with a shout. His hips twitched as Crowley swallowed every drop of seed that left him. He licked the now softening cock once more before settling back on his heels. His own spent painted the rug and, to his dismay, a bit of the settee as well.

His body buzzed in the wake of his release. Two in one day. He hadn’t been that enthusiastic in years, not that he was old, just not one of those twenty-somethings with more stamina than a raging bull anymore.

He glanced up into the half-lidded blue eyes of his partner. They hadn’t discussed any of what they were doing. Not really. Was it mutual relief? Were they just…that good of friends, maybe more? Crowley had no idea. But he also knew that bringing all that up could have a very negative impact on whatever they did have, not to mention on the case. No, it would have to wait.

Aziraphale gave him a blissful, post-orgasm smile. “My dear, you are simply the devil with that tongue of yours.”

Crowley shrugged and rested his head against Aziraphale’s thigh. He was exhausted. “Been called worse,” he panted.

He was about to add another witty retort when a knock sounded, then the door opened.


	10. Party Like It's 1999

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our team must figure out who's behind the murders before the horseman strikes again, but the party takes a turn for the worst when Crowley is unable to find Aziraphale. Can Crowley find him before it's too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thank you so much for your likes and wonderful comments!! They really make the world shine a bit brighter! I can't believe I've been writing this story for a year now. It doesn't seem that long ago when I started. Anyway, as a special Halloween treat, anyone who comments on this chapter will be entered into a contest for a free 1000-word story of their choosing!! (Some restrictions include no incest, rape/non-con, underage sex, etc. and if you're not sure, just ask me.) The contest ends on Nov. 15th and the story will be posted approximately by Dec. 1st.
> 
> I think we are on the second to last chapter now, so I hope you've had as much fun as I did. Have a happy and safe Halloween!! Watch out for flaming pumpkins!! 🎃

Crowley bolted behind the settee as Aziraphale snatched up a pillow, strategically placing over his lap. He hadn’t seen who’d barged in on them, but he cursed them with every fiber of his being. Any hope of getting to see Aziraphale naked had flown out the window. 

“There you are,” Gabriel boomed, and Crowley flinched behind the couch. Damn, he thought he’d ducked away in time.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Oh, were you looking for me?”

Crowley held his breath. Maybe he hadn’t been caught just yet. He glanced around for a better hiding place. A plush lounging chair rested in the corner of the room. He might be able to reach it in time, but there was still a lot of space between there and the settee. 

“Well,” Gabriel ambled toward the couch. “I was actually looking for Crowley. Have you seen him?”

Aziraphale shifted slightly on the couch. “Crowley is…getting ready for the party, of course. He should be done soon.” Aziraphale paused, then added. “I take it you sorted out the atrocious pigs in a blanket debacle.”

“What?” Gabriel snapped. “Aziraphale, what debacle?”

“Oh, you know. I saw the cooks rolling them with the larger sausages, and I thought you changed the menu—”

“I did no such thing!” Gabriel stomped back toward the door. “I’ll have a word with them. Get the sergeant downstairs in ten minutes, or I’ll words with you too afterward. Don’t disappoint me, Aziraphale.” 

The door slammed closed, and Crowley waited for another few seconds before releasing out a gasping breath. He peeked over the top of the couch and spied Aziraphale saying a silent prayer. 

Crowley sighed in relief and waited for Aziraphale to open his eyes before saying, “Well, that could’ve gone worse.”

“Quite,” Aziraphale nodded, then removed the pillow from his lap and stood. 

Crowley snapped his gaze to his deliciously indecent partner as he buttoned up his pants. A part of him wanted to drag Aziraphale back into the bedroom for as long as possible, days if he could get away with it. But they would need to solve the case before any of that entered the realm of possibility. 

Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled as he fastened the last button. “You are such a devious tempter, my dear.” 

Crowley blinked, then smirked at him. “And what exactly am I tempting you into now, angel?”

Aziraphale knelt and dragged out Crowley’s trousers and pants from underneath the couch. “Perhaps something like before we were so rudely interrupted. However, I regret to say that it might be best to put that on hold for a time.”

Crowley accepted his clothes, then spotted his shirt in the corner and retrieved that as well. “Yeah, I suppose so. Right, what was this costume you had for me? Probably best I get it on, and we get this over with.”

“Right you are, my dear.” Aziraphale beamed a smile at him, then he stepped forward and kissed Crowley’s cheek.

It warmed him to his core. The fluttering sensation inside of him felt so foreign and yet like it had belonged there all along. Crowley shivered and meet Aziraphale’s eyes. He didn’t speak, but his heart ached with the words he wanted to shout, wanted to proclaim from the depths of his soul. The power that angelic man had over him should’ve been terrified him. However, he suspected that perhaps Aziraphale had an idea what that ached entailed. 

Crowley gently grasped his hand, running his thumb over Aziraphale’s knuckles. He squeezed them once before letting him go and cleared his throat. “So, um, costume?”

“Right,” Aziraphale blinked, then hurried to the door at the far side of the room. 

Crowley shuffled after him, only then nervous about running around naked in Aziraphale’s living area. He imagined that he might be like that if Aziraphale ever desired a, oh, what did the kids call it these days, a boy toy. He wasn’t sure he’d mind that. Satan, he needed help. 

Aziraphale’s room had a massive four-poster bed at the center that brought all kinds of images to surface in his mind. Mostly surrounding his previous comments containing handcuffs. Crowley vowed then and there to ask him about it if they actually survived their damn case and were in one piece. 

“Here you are,” Aziraphale said and opened a tall wardrobe, fishing out a deep crimson and black cloak. Under the enormous billowing fabric hung a simple black top and trousers that appeared around his size. 

Crowley smirked and accepted the outfit. “Am I the demon that tempted an angel, then?” 

“The foulest of fiends,” Aziraphale said with entirely too much fondness for the phrase, but Crowley preened under it all the same. “I’ll await you in the main hall. Despite our previous embraces, I find myself tempted to keep you in this room until we can continue them once again.” 

Crowley snapped his gaze to him. “Right. Yeah, let’s do that.” He almost dropped the costume. 

Aziraphale glanced at him with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes before exiting the room. 

Crowley groaned aloud; he really needed to start thinking with his proper head. He dressed quickly and slipped into the bathroom to wash his face. A row of expensive colognes sat next to the mirror. Crowley sniffed at a couple of them before finding the musky-leather one that Aziraphale had been wearing. He dabbed a bit on his neck and inhaled the soothing scent. He took a picture of the bottle so that he could order it in the future. Hopefully, Aziraphale wouldn’t mind, but if he had to guess, he thought Aziraphale would find the gesture more enduring than creepy. 

He hurried to the door of the living quarters when a thin mask caught his eyes. It sat on a small end table next to Aziraphale’s dagger. The mask was strikingly dark, black with crimson lines framing the eyes and edges of the mask. He smiled as it reminded him of Aziraphale’s mask but with opposites colors. As though he were the opposite of Aziraphale, the darkness to the light, one that couldn’t live without the other. Perhaps a bit too Romeo and Juliet in that line of thinking. 

Crowley tied on the mask, tucked the dagger into the back of his belt, then headed down the long winding hallways. 

To his dismay, Gabriel spotted him first. 

“Ah, there you are. Fashionably late, or something.” Gabriel placed his hands on Crowley’s shoulders. “Come here. There are some people I think you’d be interested in meeting.” 

Crowley doubted that but allowed himself to be lead around the room. Even if it was the last place he’d rather be, it did give him the excuse to meet more of the townspeople as well as get a read on any potential suspects. 

A man that smelled like baked goods stepped up next to him. He had a plush stature and beady eyes that reminded Crowley of a mouse that had snuck into the kitchen at night. “Enjoying the party, Sargeant?” He sipped from a flute of champagne and kept his eyes fixed on him.

Crowley couldn’t bring himself to even give a fake smile, so defaulted to his neutral nod. “Oh, yeah. Great party. I love parties. Big party fan, me. And just call me Crowley.” 

“Of course. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Crowley. I’m Mr. Sandalphon. I run the bakery. I’m sure you’ve heard of my renowned skills in the kitchen. Why they come for miles just to get a taste of the things I can make, you know?”

Crowley refrained from visibly shuddering, just barely. “Ah, well, that’s great. Good for you.” Where was Aziraphale?

“You should come by sometime. I could whip you up something special, on the house, of course.” Sandalphon gave him a toothy grin.

Crowley had to suppress the urge to run away, at least at breakneck speed. “Yay, cool. Thanks. Sorry, I’m gonna grab another drink.” He tried to keep his stride to a fast walk rather than tear from the room shrieking for Aziraphale. He wasn’t entirely sure Sandalphon was trying to come onto him, but either way, the guy had thoroughly creep him out.

“Celebrating the cold of your case, I see.”

Crowley spun to the familiar voice. Chief Inspector Dagon stood with a large glass of punch. Their stare bore into him with predatory hunger. “Cheers and all, but don’t let it get to your head. You’ll have a new case on your desk by Monday. Make sure you deal with it quickly.”

Crowley blinked, attempting to process the words. “A new case? Was there another murder?”

Dagon’s lips peeled into a sinister smile. “Why, the late Mr. Fell, of course. Gabriel will complain until that’s taken care of, and I don’t want him breathing down my neck about it. Beez may have let you slack off before, but you’ll find that I am meticulous with the paperwork. Don’t fuck it up, or I’ll have for head mounted on my wall,  _ Crawley _ .”

Crowley stood frozen. His mind racing, processing their words over and over again. What did they mean? Had one of Aziraphale’s siblings been murdered? Aziraphale would’ve mentioned something like that. His heart thudded against his chest, vibrating even the bones in his body. He stumbled against a side table, bracing himself against it for support. He needed to find Aziraphale. He needed to find him fast.

Crowley stumbled toward the dining hall the clinking of glasses tinkled around. Gabriel stepped onto a small stage in the main hall, near the classical chamber ensemble. The music died down, and Gabriel cleared his throat. He wore his terribly characteristic smile with the force as though it were glued in place. 

“Welcome, family, friends, and honored guests.” He winked in Crowley’s direction, which made his stomach squeeze and threatened to empty then and there. “Tonight, on this beautiful evening, in this magnificent house,” he chuckled like it was an inside joke, “and with such glamorous people, I’d like to propose a toast.”

Crowley opened his mouth. He wanted to scream. He wanted to shout for Aziraphale or shout at Gabriel for acting so calm when things were more definitely not calm. Then, he felt it.

The hairs prickled at the back of his neck. The same happened numerous times before when the jaws of the trap were moments from snapping shut. 

His eyes widened as he stared at the smiling figure on the stage.

“I’d like to toast to success, my success, obviously, but also the success of my colleagues during these last few tiresome months of planning.”

Crowley eased backward. He had to get out of there. Every second he stood listening to those fake words, the edges of the room closed in tighter. He glanced around and spied Anathema and Newt standing by the windows not far from him. That stared stone-faced, watching Gabriel without a flicker of annoyance. 

Crowley snaked his way to the witch’s side. He leaned in and whispered, “Something’s not right. We need to go now!” He glanced around again. Crowley begged whatever powers at be for Aziraphale to appear then. He needed to see him. His stomach twisted up inside. 

Anathema clasped his hand and held it as she stared forward. 

Gabriel continued rambling on, “…and with the challenges these last couple of months, I just want to say good job, everyone,” he started clapping, encouraging others in the crowd to clap. “Really, pats on the back all around.”

Crowley pulled at his hand, but the witch held on, unwilling to release her grip on his wrist. “Look, Witch-girl, whatever you’re trying to pull here, now is not the time—” 

Gabriel chuckled from his perch. “And while I am so proud of how my plan came out as a whole, I really wanted to shine a spotlight on the wildcard tonight. Sergeant, why don’t you come up here a moment.” He flashed a wider smile and waved for Crowley to ascend the small raised platform.

Crowley stared at him, then he glanced back at Anathema and Newt, who stood still looking straight ahead. She had released his hand, but all eyes had fallen on him. 

Crowley ground his teeth and stalked through the crowd and leaped onto the stage. Screw polite crap! “What the fuck is going on here?”

Gabriel’s gaze didn’t falter. If anything, he gave him a small pitying pout like a parent might give a child. “Come on, Mister Big-Shot. We all know you’ve figured it out by now. But I guess there is a chance you’re still slacking behind. I have to say, that doesn’t look good as my new head of security.” He gave Crowley’s shoulder a somewhat playful punch. “But no matter. Let’s move on to the main course of the evening, shall we?” He gripped Crowley’s shoulder hard. “To the Gardens! The shows about to start.”

Crowley started to pull away, but another hand landed on his other shoulder. He whipped his head around and spied Dagon standing there with a drink in their other hand. 

“Do you remember what I said if you fuck this up?” Dagon gave him a rather pointed grin. 

Crowley allowed himself to be led outside despite every instinct screaming at him to get the fuck away right then. There was only one reason he didn’t leave.

And, as they entered past the wall of shrubs, walking over the gravel path, passed the rows of flowers, Crowley figured out why he hadn’t seen the angel of a man since he’d left the rooms. 

A colossal wicker statue rested at the center of the garden. It towered over the crowd of guests. Its thick branches bathed in the amber light of the full moon. They had tied a man at its center—a man with beautiful blond curls who wore lavish silk coats and tartan bowties. 

Aziraphale stared out from his restrains. His eyes were wide, and his handkerchief had been stuffed into his mouth. He met Crowley’s gaze and yanked at his restrains. 

Crowley snarled and ripped himself free from the grips of his captures. He leaped forward and placed himself between the solemn crowd and the enormous wicker man. 

“Enough!” he snarled. He pointed a finger into the throng of people, straight at Gabriel. “Whatever’s going here, it ends now. I’m arresting you for conspiracy and suspicion of murder.”

Dagon stepped forward and rolled their eyes. “Can’t actually. No proof. And you know as well as I do that conspiracy won’t stick with just one person. The murders were committed by a horseman. All eyewitnesses saw it, and Gabriel has already provided us with an alibi for all three murders.”

“Three?” Crowley’s hand shook at his sides. 

Dagon nodded behind him.

Crowley spun and met Aziraphale’s frantic eyes. His heart pounded in his chest, and as his mind processed the words, a shrieked echoed in the distance. The horseman was coming. 

He spun, searching for Anathema, or Newt, or someone with a fucking heart. “Help me,” he pleaded. “We have to  _ do _ something!” Only blank stares gazed back at him. Even as he met witch-girl’s eyes, they were as lifeless as the shadows surrounding them. 

He growled and ripped the dagger from his belt. He spun to the wicker monstrosity and started sawing at the thick ropes that restrained his partner to it. “I swear I’ll get you out of here.” He hadn’t worked out yet, how he would reach the higher ropes, only having access to the ones at his legs. He would figure it out. He had to. Hooves thundered in the distance. “I’ll get us free of here,” he babbled, “then you and I will pop off far away from this place, far as we can go. To the stars, if you like. Read somewhere Alpha Centauri is nice this time of year.”

A horse’s whinnying scream rang out as the horseman leaped over the wall of hedges, trampling through the flowers toward them. 

Crowley reached for another rope when the dagger was yanked from his grasp. Gabriel hit him across the jaw before he could react, and he stumbled to the ground. Pain clouded his mind. He rubbed at his jaw; no teeth were broken at least. 

“Crawley, Crawley, Crawley. We had such high hopes for you, really. Now you’ve gone and tried to fuck it all up with your little heroic act. Pitiful. All because you lack vision.”

Crowley glared at him and groaned, “What in the hell are you going on about? Fucking wanker! I called it from the start.”

“I’ll ignore your unenlightened comments for now. If only you had been on board. The great plans I have for this place are truly one of a kind.”

Crowley glanced at the horseman. The terrifying headless man with a flaming pumpkin head paced his horse in a slow circle around them, waiting. Gabriel didn’t give two shits that the murderous hell beast circled them like a shark homing in on its meal. He flicked his gaze back to the pompous prick. “Yeah, well, great mangled bollocks to you and your great plans. Is murdering people your great plan because frankly, it’s not very creative, is it? Bit clique, if you ask me.”

Gabriel’s jaw twitched as he bore down at him. Finally, Crowley was getting under his skin. Gabriel cleared his throat. “Regardless of your childish antics, you could’ve been a part of something great. Beez had assured me you’d be the best to lead my security team once the hotel was finished.”

Crowley’s jaw fell open. He had no idea which bit of information to process first. For starters, Beez was somehow involved in all that was going on. However, they had probably sent Crowley there as more of a nuisance than an asset. Beez would’ve known full well that Crowley wouldn’t have agreed to such an offer, probably. “Beez? A hotel? Are you seriously telling me all these murders and chaos and headless fucking horseman is for a  _ hotel _ ?” 

Gabriel scoffed and threw the dagger into the bushes. “Not just a hotel. A five-star hotel with a spa—”

“And mini-golf,” Sandalphon piped up.

Gabriel nodded, “And mini-golf. So, see, lots going on here. Much more lucrative than a run-down history museum. No more horse manure or screaming brats. Just celebrities and political figures and here for our exclusive spa and relaxation services—”

“Still not following why the Royal Wanker Hotel needs pre-celebration murders.” Crowley couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It all had to be some kind of horrible joke. Then, it clicked. “It was you. Scarlett was sleeping with you, got knocked up, then when you found out. You had her and Dr. Sable killed so you didn’t have to share your little fortune, you bastard. But why Aziraphale?”

Gabriel stepped forward with his eerie smile. “That’s what happens to traitors. He wasn’t the best soldier for our cause, but still a shame to lose one of our own. All because he couldn’t stand the idea of me ordering the horseman to kill you. Turned a blind eye to the others, but when he heard of the ultimatum that you join us or die, well, we couldn’t let him go and warn you, or anyone outside of our little family, could we?” He sighed, staring at his brother. “Oh, well, back to business.” Gabriel let out a piercing whistle, then stepped back. “One thing you should’ve learned, sunshine. Never fuck with the guy who’s holding all the cards.”


End file.
